


Mirror's Reflection

by KylaraIngress



Category: Quantum Leap
Genre: Alternate Timelines, F/M, M/M, POV First Person, Temporal Paradox, leap home AU, mid-leap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-09-24
Packaged: 2018-03-18 15:26:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 43,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3574593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KylaraIngress/pseuds/KylaraIngress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's giving Al Beth causes some serious time paradoxes. Al finds himself in a life that he both doesn't know and is slowly knowing only about – a life without Sam. What happens when Sam leaps in to see the results in his deeds leads them both on a paradoxical journey through memories, families, and love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oooh, boy. This story has some minor references to the _Quantum Leap_ novel _Mirror's Edge_ , which was the last 'official' QL novel and was supposed to be a direct prequel to the episode "Mirror Image". However, you don't have to have read that book to understand what's going on here – I just liked the basic setup (even though the book itself had some problems, IMHO). 
> 
> This story takes on the after effects of Sam's actions in "Mirror Image", starting as soon as Al leaves Sam. It takes into consideration what changes Sam's acts would have on Al and the rest of the project. 
> 
> Written in 2002/2003, and originally published in _For the Love of Al_ , issue 2, so it is complete. Posted as part of Throwback Thursdays.
> 
> If you're interested, [HERE](http://kylaraingress.tumblr.com/) is my Tumblr. Not updated very often.

** Prologue **

** Stallion's Gate, May 1999: **

I had to get him out of there. It was that simple. If I thought he'd been acting odd before – remembering how many freakin' steps it took to get downstairs to the Project, for Christ's sake – it was nothin' compared to now. Pacin' about like a caged animal, babbling about a Gooshie that wasn't our Gooshie and a bartender named Al who was supposedly leapin' him through time, but sayin' it was Sam who was leapin' himself around.

I came out of the Imaging Chamber into Control and tried to give a condensed version of my panic to Gooshie – so he could see I would do anything for him. "Whatever it takes, I'll get you out of here," I had said to Sam. Whatever it takes. Including go into the accelerator myself. David had tried – almost succeeded, but we all realized it was up to me. Hell, it was my neurons that were in Ziggy, right? 

I had just gotten on the Fermi suit, not believing I would ever wear something this unstylish in my life, and walked into the accelerator, when Gooshie hit me with the news that Sam had leaped out of there. _Damn._ Without a lock, it would be impossible to rescue him. At least he had been alive at that bar. I was gettin' scared when I saw that bullet go for him – especially with Beeks tellin' me that the reason he had started remembering everything was so he could put his life behind him. _But_ , I wanted to scream at her, _he hadn't remembered everything_. So that still left us a chance. A small chance, true, but I was fine with that: any chance is a chance, right? 

I don't know if it was the stress of the day or the effects of the Chamber or what, but just as I was heading out, I felt my knees go weak, and my last conscious thought was that I would do anything for Sam. I loved him, after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Al's life is about to go a little ... caca.

"Dad?" My body felt like it weighed a thousand tons, and part of my brain wondered when I had time to get hammered over these past few leaps of Sam's. Only problem, I couldn't remember taking a single drink. I've gotten pretty wasted on occasion – the night after Sam had leaped and not remembering who I was being the worst since I 'sobered up' – but never so bad that I didn't even remember drinking. "Dad?" I felt a hand shake my shoulder, and it dawned that the voice was talking to me. _Dad?_ I wondered. "Mom," the voice continued, changing distances as the woman who owned it talked to someone else, "he's not coming around. You're the nurse, you want to try it?"

_Maybe I had leaped after all_ , my brain reasoned. The reason I couldn't remember anything was the Swiss cheese effect. That line of reasoning got quickly short-circuited, though, as I heard the other voice. 

"Al?" it said, coming close to me. "Sweetie, are you okay?" And I paled as I somehow recognized that voice in all the confusion.

"Beth?" I gargled, my mouth feeling like cotton. _Okay, maybe I have been drinking_ , I thought. _Maybe this is all just one of my many hallucinations – I've had some doozies after all._ I hesitantly opened my eyes, not sure if I wanted to see what I both hoped and feared I would. Standing over me was Beth. Yet it wasn't the Beth from my memories (young, sweet, dainty). It was as she would be now – still beautiful, but older, having seen a little more of life. Standing over her shoulder was a girl in either her late-teens or early-twenties who looked like she could be Beth's sister. But Beth's sister was only a few years younger, and the age difference between the two was definitely more than a few years. "What the . . ." I trailed off. 

"You just fainted, hon," Beth said, patting my hand. "You've been going overtime on work, staying up until three or four in the morning every night lately. I've told you to take it easy."

"The day Dad takes it easy is the day I stop wanting to be a doctor," said the woman that stood behind Beth. _The day dad takes it easy_, I repeated, suddenly having a very scary suspicion as to why the woman looked like Beth. I gave her a good long look – and recognized my trademark curls in her hair.

"Samantha!" Beth chastised, and I choked at the news that this woman, _my daughter_ , had been named Samantha. "Don't encourage your father." This was truly bizarre, and the weirdest hallucination I've had yet. 

"Samantha?" I asked, my brain half a step behind everything else.

"Yeah, Dad?" she replied, leaning over to get a good look at me. Her brown eyes were a near-reflection of mine, her dark hair a combination of mine and Beth's, and her mouth crinkled in my famous grin.

"Nothing," I covered. I slowly sat up, fighting the feeling of dread that was crawling into my soul, and groaned as my head rattled in response.

"Albert, have you been drinking?" Beth gave me a look, and I cringed again as I caught myself comparing that look to the ones Sam had always given me when he had seen me drunk.

"N . . . n . . . no," I stammered, "no, hon." I didn't remember much, but I hoped my lack of memory on drinking was right. My headache grew exponentially as the sound of three other women came barreling into the room, followed quickly by the forms of their owners. 

"Did not!"

"Did so!"

"Did not!"

"Mom! She's making fun of the fact that I'm pregnant."

I choked again on that one, as my eyes rested on the three other additions to the room. The oldest seemed to be in her mid 20s or so and very pregnant, the next one seemed to be a year or so younger and looked to be an athletic type of girl, and the final one seemed to be in her late teens. It had been the teenager and the pregnant one arguing, with the athletic one looking like she had been stuck in the middle. 

"Girls!" Beth admonished, again. "Your father isn't feeling well."

"I've got four daughters?" I cried, not realizing I had said it aloud. The looks of all five women as they turned on me, though, made me realize it quickly enough. "Four such beautiful daughters," I quickly amended. Hey, what can I say? I've got the Calavicci charm with women. The looks of shock turned to looks of bashfulness as I finished up with, "How can a man like me be so lucky with such beauty?"

"Oh, Al," Beth said, her smile lighting up the room. "I almost hope Tina does have a girl; you'll butter her up so well." And she patted the pregnant woman's stomach.

"Tina?" I couldn't help but strangle out. _Great. I've got a Tina and a Sam. This_ must _be a dream._ I ran my fingers through my hair in worry. _Please, God,_ I thought in a moment of panic _, don't let the other two be Ziggy and Gooshie_. 

"Yeah, Dad?" the pregnant woman echoed Samantha's phrase, but didn't quite lean over. Hell, she looked like she was carrying twins in there; of course she's not gonna lean over. 

"Don't let your sister get to ya," I mumbled, not wanting to act too odd. Not yet, anyway.

"See, Donna?" she said to the teenager. "I told you he wouldn't side with me." _Donna? Oh, boy,_ I thought, _Freud (or Beeks) would have a field day with this dream._ The thought of Beeks suddenly made me take a guess as to the last daughter's name.

"Verbena?" I queried, wincing at the anxiety I heard in my voice. I now could relate to why Sam had laughed that I had an uncle named Styopa; irony was just something you had to laugh at eventually – laugh or go crazy. 

"I'm here, Dad," the athletic one said, patting my hand. "You want to talk about it?" _Don't tell me she's studying psychiatry,_ I thought. Wouldn't it just fit this warped world I was in to make me, the all-time hater of shrinks, be the father of one?

But the shock of everything must've affected me a hell of a lot more than I realized. As I tried standing up, I lost the use of my legs and started to slip once more into unconsciousness. My last thought this time was that Rod Serling had nothin' on this dream.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Al starts to try and figure out what's going on.

_It was just a dream. It had to be._ I kept chanting that thought as my eyes fluttered open once more, taking in the fact that I was laying on a bed of some sort in a room I didn't recognize. _Oh, well_ , I sighed. _Gooshie probably brought me to his quarters or something when I fainted in the accelerator_. One problem, though. This bedroom did not look like Gooshie. I may only know him through work, but I knew his general tastes – they tended to lean toward _Star Trek_ and _Babylon 5_ , not 'normal' adults. In fact, I realized as I glanced over the room, the room kinda looked like . . . . 

"Al, sweetheart?" I hesitantly flickered my eyes to the doorway. Yep. It was still Beth, still older than I remembered her, still looking at me with the concern of a wife. Either this was one very detailed dream, or . . . . I didn't want to think about that 'or', or what that meant for Sam and the project. _The project!_ I suddenly realized. Beth had said something about me going overboard at work. Could it be PQL?

"I'm fine, hon," I said, realizing she was still giving me that worried look. "Like you said, I must've been working too hard. In fact," I said, acting my way through, "I seem to have hit my head a little when I fell. I must've knocked some of my memories away." _It always works for Sam_ , I thought. _Might as well use that to cover my lack of memories_.

"Well, you just stay there until you're feeling better," Beth said, taking a hesitant step in. I then recognized the uniform she wore, and remembered Samantha saying something about Beth still being a nurse. "I've got to go to the hospital. Are you going to be okay with me gone?"

I hated the feeling of relief I felt at that news. While part of me wanted Beth around ( _she's everything to me_ , I remembered telling Sam once), I also needed to find out what the hell had happened to my life, and part of me felt lost without Sam. If this wasn't a dream, it left few options as to what it was, and I needed to figure out what was going on. Beth's presence only hampered me, and with her gone I could perhaps get a grip on reality. "I'll be fine," I said, slowly sitting up. "It's just been a long couple of days." 

She came over to the side of the bed and leaned over to check my pulse. "Your heart rate still isn't normal, Al," she said with a shake of her head.

"How can my heart rate ever be normal around you?" I asked as my hand snaked around her waist. I pulled her close to me, into a wild kiss, letting the fact that I hadn't seen her for so long rule my emotions and take over my body and hormones. _Hell,_ I thought, _might as well make the most of this dream._

"Albert!" she giggled, prying my hands off her. "You old devil," she tsked, giving me a look I recognized from my other life, the look of a woman who was surprised at my amorous attentions. Part of me wondered why she didn't recognize what I classified as my usual advances. "You haven't been this excited since Tina became pregnant. So," she said with a small teasing grin, "you're more comfortable with being a grandfather now?"

Grandfather. The word hit me like the proverbial ton of bricks as I suddenly realized I was going to be a grandfather. My baby, who I didn't even remember, was going to have a baby of her own. I brushed the thought aside to think about later, and concentrated on Beth instead. "What can I say?" I said slyly, in my best sexy voice. "I've always been a sucker for brunettes." And I pulled her into another kiss.

I closed my eyes, figuring if it was a dream I would play it out a little bit longer, and trailed my hand up her arm to meet my other arm that lay at her neck. I pulled her down on the bed and moved my arms to accommodate her shoulders, _broad shoulders_ , moving a hand to brush her hair, _light brown hair with a streak of white_ , out of her face, and opened my eyes to look at her dark, almost black, _hazel green with flecks of gold_ , eyes. The double image held for a brief minute, and I realized that as much as I loved Beth, there was only one person I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.

"Sam," I said softly, wishing for a second that the other image I had seen in my mind's eye was real, that Beth would somehow transform into him. As it steadily stayed my wife, though, I slowly realized once and for all that whatever I was stuck in, it was no dream. An ache of loneliness filled me so deep, I was afraid I would never recover.

"Do I want to know why you're thinking of our daughter during this moment?" a shocked Beth said, giving me a look I definitely recognized from my prior hound-dog days – I was two steps away from being in big trouble. _Okay, Calavicci, get yourself out of_ this _one._

But, hey, I was nothin' if not an old pro at getting out of trouble with women, right? The only problem is that I couldn't exactly tell my wife that I was thinkin' of a man. I latched onto the only thing I could think of, the excuse she gave me of Samantha. "Oh, what with her in college and all," I started, "I just had a vision of her doin' the horizontal tango. Not exactly the most romantic image," I said, trying to offset that I was no longer wanting to lead her on. I still wanted sex; hell, more than she probably realized. Just . . . just not with her.

"I doubt that," Beth said, moving her hand down to my erect cock. "You're body seemed to find it sexy enough." She looked at me again, and I notched my trouble up to one step away. I could tell part of her was wondering if it was indeed our daughter, and not another Samantha. So, I did what I had done back when I was still with my Tina and trying to not think of sex. I thought of Gooshie . . . naked. "Then again," she sighed, as my erection thankfully went away at that image in my head. "You must be going through a mid-life crisis or something." I could see her medical mind working on this supposed odd behavior, but not coming up with anything (no pun intended).

"I just need some rest, like you said," I said, remembering the conversation we were having before I tried putting the moves on her. "You go to work. I'm sure the hospital needs you more than I do right now."

"Oh, Al," she said, patting my cheek. "You know I'd stay here any other time you asked. It's just that today is when the president has his annual physical."

"President?" I shot at her, trying to keep the panic out of my voice. I slowly rose from the bed, still a little shaky, but getting better.

"Al, don't sit there and act like it's news to you," she said. "All we've been talking about for the past few weeks is how I'll be helping Dr. Sutton give President Clinton his physical. This could be a very big career step for me."

Well, that certainly handled where I was. How I got from New Mexico to Washington, D.C., though, left me blank. In fact, part of my brain recognized I've lived in Washington since the late '70s, early '80s, and moved because of a desk job that gave me the extra security a man with three daughters and another on the way needed. _My job is with Sam in New Mexico_, I shouted back to that part of the brain. I started to panic, however, when I couldn't remember where in New Mexico the project was located. _Somewhere beginning with "S"_ , I thought with a rising sense of concern. _Stank? Steve? Strong? Steamroller? What the hell is it?_ My train of thought was derailed, though, as Beth interrupted my internal monologue.

"I've got to go now, Albert," she said in what could only be described as her discipline voice. The same voice she used on reticent patients, I realized.

"Go," I ushered her out, trying to think back to what I had been so desperate to remember. I gave her a quick peck on the cheek, and as I watched her walk out, I went back in my brain. I was trying to remember where I worked. _Why was I trying to remember that I worked in D.C.?_ I dismissed the thought, deciding Beth was right; I was working too hard. Last night, especially, I had stayed up very late working on the latest assignment from my desk job – investigating the funding issues on several governmental projects. One was specifically due Monday afternoon, and I had poured over the budget, trying to understand what the numbers were really trying to say.

I took a deep breath, shaking off the morning funk, and went to the bathroom. I turned on the sink and splashed my face, trying to bring my brain back to the current reality, and looked up at my reflection.

_An admiral's uniform, stars on the shoulder, wrinkles around the eyes, deep and dark bags under them, looking completely stressed out and tired, tired but determined._ I felt my heart go into my throat as the image flashed across my memory for a brief second. I grabbed the edge of the sink, vowing that whatever was going on in my life, whatever had me so lost at sea, I would not knock myself out again. I hesitantly looked back into the mirror, and saw me as me again. Me, in my polka-dotted pajamas, my hair all mussed, and the beginnings of true wrinkles at the edges of my semi-bloodshot eyes. I laughed nervously, wondering where I had gotten that other image.

I suddenly heard a feminine voice in my head, _Admiral Calavicci_ , a voice I knew I should recognize. I shook my head, trying to think. I wasn't an admiral. While part of me always wanted to go that extra step, family life with Beth had left me with a satisfied captaincy. My current job and rank had enough responsibility to actually have a desk job worth having, but still open to the occasional external mission.

Yet the image was exact. I could see the frickin' stars I knew I didn't have, and the wear and tear which showed that Al Calavicci hadn't had a decent night's sleep in years. But despite that unhealthy side effect, the first reflection looked like it was right, like it belonged, like it was supposed to be. Even down to the weird electronic gadget that was in one hand and the cigar in the other.

_A cigar!_ My brain called out for the wonderful substance, until I remembered my promise to Beth a few months ago to try and stop – for the sake of the kids. "While I personally don't mind them, Al," she had said, "I don't want that stuff around Tina – not while she's got that precious package growing inside her." I had agreed, but had taken up a different vice that didn't leave a stinky trail behind it – unless I overindulged in Mr. Jack Daniels, that is.

I winced, realizing my headache had come from more than just staying up until four o'clock in the morning; it also came from the substance I now needed in order to get to sleep in the first place. Beth had been right after all; I had been drinking last night. Maybe that's why I was hallucinating kissing men and seeing myself as an admiral. And maybe that explained the overwhelming sense of loss and loneliness I could not shake off.

I shook my head again, vowing to start trying to cut back on my drinking, not wanting to break my promise to Sam. _Sam?_ I wondered, thinking of the image I had seen over Beth's as I had kissed her. _No – Samantha_ , I remembered, thinking of my daughter and the deal we had made. She was a bright student, but lazy as I was about some things – including her studies. When I had tried cornering her about it, though, she cornered me on my habit. So, I cut her a deal: I promised her I would stop drinking if she'd do good in school. So far, we had both welched a little, but not enough to call each other on it.

I started taking off my clothes, deciding a shower might do the trick. _I just need to wake up,_ I thought, knowing a good morning dash of cold water would help me clear the cobwebs in my head. I gave a sardonic chuckle. As much as I enjoyed drinking, I never enjoyed the next morning; it was never fun trying to recreate my life.

As I walked into the bathroom, I saw that one of the girls had left a tape player on the corner of the sink. I turned on the water, fixing it to the temperature I enjoyed, and decided some music would be just what I needed. So, testing the water one more time, I turned around, pushed play, and headed into the shower.

I love to sing. I don't care what anyone else may say about my particular singing habits, I think I'm great. And the music that started to play was from one of my favorite soundtracks: _Man of La Mancha_. I started lathering myself up as I sang along, "I am I, Don Quixote, the Lord of La Mancha, my destiny calls, and I go . . . ." As I sang, though, part of my brain heard another voice, a beautiful male voice, filled with pain and sorrow and angst. I sighed, thinking of a man left at the altar, me comforting him until late the next morning. _Donna_ , I remembered. _Wait a minute_ , my brain argued, comparing the picture in my head to the one of my teenage daughter. They were not the same, and besides, I'd kill her if she wanted to get married at her age. Christ, she was only 17!

I shook my head again, wondering where these images were coming from. I finished my shower, not daring to sing again, not even my favorite one – the one where Sancho explains to Aldonza why he follows the man with the impossible dream: "I like him, I really like him." I gave a small, sad smile as I realized I always wanted to follow someone who believed in a dream so strong that they'd face any torment, any ridicule, and any peril to see it through. I always felt that would replace that lack of belonging, that sense of loneliness in my life, that ache. And Beth . . . as much as I loved her, I never felt like I belonged with her.

I closed my eyes tight against the pain, and knew I had to stop this line of thought before it got any worse. I consciously turned my thoughts to the day ahead as I started toweling myself off. It was Saturday, if I remembered correctly, May . . . _May what?_ I had a brief flash of panic as I tried to remember the day, and the panic grew as I couldn't even remember what year it was. I dismissed the panic quickly, deciding it was a residual of my morning so far, hitting my head, and brought my thoughts back to the day ahead. Last night, I couldn't come up with any conclusions on the budget data I had, and my drinking had kept me down for most of the morning. I really couldn't afford to have my drinking interfere my work, and so I knew I had to buckle down. I put my robe back on and headed toward the closet.

_What to wear, what to wear?_ I ruffled through the closet, looking through the drab clothes that hung. _Where's my blue zoot suit?_ I wondered, looking through the wash. _No, it's dry clean only,_ I realized _. In fact, most of my clothes are dry clean only, including my admiral uniform._ I felt my knees go weak again, as the image of me dressed in wild clothes was overwhelmed by the solid reality of the wardrobe in front of me. _God, I don't have any decent clothes!_ I shouted in my head, aghast at the fact that most of my outfits were simple suits. The only chance I got to go wild was with my ties, the more outrageous the better. I sighed as my hands came in contact with my uniform, my _captain's_ uniform, and I shook my head once more to clear away the vision of me in that admiral outfit.

I finally decided on a pair of sweats and a SEALs T-shirt, knowing they looked ratty but not wanting to wear anything too nice on a Saturday. After all, Saturdays were my time to be myself. And while we weren't poor by any stretch of the imagination, we also couldn't afford me spending extra money on original designs by Armani. Hell, with four kids to put through college and a grandchild on the way, we needed all the extra income we could get. I sighed, thinking briefly of a Hawaiian shirt that Sam had bought me the Christmas before he leaped, and wondered what other surprises were in store for me. _Sam?_ I wondered. _Samantha never bought me a Hawaiian shirt, and why the hell am I changing her gender?_ I didn't even want to start thinking about the concept of her/him "leaping".

_Okay_ , I thought, _no more Jack Daniels at 3 in the morning for me_. And I thought some of the creepy crawlies I had gotten waking up in 'Nam were odd. I pulled on a pair of socks, and gave myself the once-over in the mirror, _halfway expecting to see someone else's face._ I decided I was dressed enough to continue reading over the rest of the reports for my brief.

I cruised into the kitchen and saw a feminine form bent over the refrigerator. Still too off to remember the differences in my daughters, I decided to greet this one in the most blasé way I could. "Hey, sweetie," I said, laying my hand on her shoulder.

The one I remembered as being Samantha turned around and mimicked being blown away. "Jeez, dad, don't they have toothpaste back in the land of Nod?" she coughed, waving her hand in front of her mouth in mock horror.

"I guess I've been hanging around Gooshie too long," I said automatically.

"Gooshie?" she asked, giving me a look of confusion. "Who's Gooshie?"

"Oh," I faltered, "Dr. Gushman. He's . . . a . . . he's a colleague of mine, from work. Has horrible breath."

She straightened up, a glass of orange juice held out to me, and her eyes crinkled in concern. "Dr. Gushman?" she asked. "I thought I'd met all your co-workers, dad. I don't remember you knowing any doctors – that's usually mom's field."

"Oh, he's not a medical doctor," I said. _Gooshie going_ , my brain said in imitation of an auctioneer. "He's . . . he's . . ." _going_ , "he's a little guy, bad breath," I finally faltered, _Gooshie gone_. "You're right," I said, shaking my head as I took a small drink of my favorite non-alcoholic beverage. "I don't know a Gooshie. Don't know where I got the idea I did." 

"You have been drinking, haven't you, Dad?" she asked, the pain of betrayal clearly evident in her voice.

"Just a little, to get to sleep," I admitted, dropping my eyes away from her. I had promised Sam, after all, to try and stop.

"It's John, isn't it?" she said, laying a hand on my arm. "You were doing better until you met John and his father. The Congressman makes you uncomfortable, doesn't he?"

I winced as I thought about John, and his father Congressman Tom Beckett. We had met John's family at the Wall, Samantha thinking the commonality of Vietnam would bridge the always-awkward meeting of families. John's father had paled at seeing me – a common reaction once that photo of me had been plastered on newspapers across the US. However, it was more than the reaction of seeing the face that won the deceased Maggie Dawson her Pulitzer; there was tremendous guilt in his expression as well, and I quickly found out he had been sent to find me when I was M.I.A. Dawson's death had caused him to lose us in the jungle, and I spent another few years as a P.O.W. A few years he felt personally responsible for.

"It's not him," I said. "Not exactly. Just Vietnam as a whole. Sometimes," I stammered, knowing somehow that Sam would understand, "sometimes they'd give us hooch as a reward for answering questions. It was the only way we could escape. It makes me feel welcome," I had to admit. Trying to lighten the mood, I smiled at her, saying, "But don't let my reactions stop you from seeing John. It would be nice to get you married off."

"Dad," she said, cringing in embarrassment, as I knew she would. "We haven't even talked about living together, let alone marriage."

"Trust me," I said. "I've seen the way you look at each other. And if there's anyone who knows about marriage, it's me."

"How do you know so much about marriage?" she joked. "You've only done it the one time."

_But I haven't_ , I thought, _I've been married five times_. Where in the hell did THAT thought come from? "But that marriage has lasted 39 years come June," I said instead. I paused, and smiled again, saying, "Sam Beckett. Sounds kinda nice." _Familiar_ , I thought – like it was meant to be, like I was supposed to have a Sam Beckett in my life.

"Great," she said. "Not only will I have the same name as a playwright, but a quantum physicist as well."

"What?" I asked, not as confused as I appeared. Somehow, I knew there was a Dr. Sam Beckett out there. 

"Come on, Dad," she said, refilling my glass and handing me the sandwich she had been making. "You know how lately I've been studying his work. It's really quite fascinating. Too bad he disappeared seven years ago – I would love to see what he'd make of Hawking's latest book."

_Seven years ago?_ I wondered. _But Sam's been leaping only five years_. There was that word again, "leap". 

"Of course," Samantha continued, "it doesn't help that he's John's uncle. His dad's been trying to find out what happened to him, and no one will tell him anything. Maybe that's why he felt so guilty when he saw you; his brother's been a bit of an M.I.A. for the past seven years as well."

I chewed thoughtfully on my sandwich, wondering why I thought I knew the quantum physicist so well. That line of thought got quickly halted, _again_ , as I saw Samantha giving me a look I knew only too well.

"Just consider it my way of repaying you for that latest F," I said, knowing her brain had just picked up that I had deflected the conversation away from my drinking. "In biology, at that. How could you get an F in your favorite subject?"

She had the decency to look chagrined, and she said, "Okay. I'll let it slide this time." She patted my cheek in a dainty reminder of the way Beth had, saying, "I just wish you wouldn't lie to Mom. I know you think she wouldn't understand your need to have a vice, but she does. She only asked for you to stop smoking around Tina. The rest of us don't care if you smoke those stinky," she said, giving a grin, "smelly," she continued, breaking into a giggle, "horrible cancer-ridden stogies of yours." _Trust a medical doctor to give me grief about smoking_ , I thought, remembering all the times Sam had given me grief for smoking in the Imaging Chamber. _What the hell is an Imaging Chamber?_ Samantha had broken her giggle off, suddenly serious, and finished, "If you've got to have a vice, Dad, I'd prefer the cigars. You at least have some modicum of control over yourself when you're smoking."

"Yeah," I said, remembering. "I'd never beat up a vending machine with a hammer with an overdose of cigars, would I?" The image of me desperate to get some munchies, drunker than the proverbial skunk, pissed (in more ways than one) that the machine hadn't given me my crunchy bar. Sam had come up to me as I just started attacking the glass, attempting to break it, and quietly took the hammer away like a cop taking a gun from a terrorist. Then, laughter shook me to the core as he showed me I had been short a dime. But the laughter was more than just at the situation. It was a release of everything that had been going wrong in my life. From that day forward, I considered myself as someone climbing on the wagon, and I finally felt like I had belonged.

"You've been drunk enough to beat up a vending machine?" Samantha asked, concern growing in her face, bringing me screeching back into this life. "With a hammer?" she squeaked, obviously thrown by this vision of her father.

I shook my head, the memory slowly retreating. I had never been that desperate in this life to belong, never so distressed with life that alcohol was the only place I felt safe – turning it into the security blanket it had been when I was in 'Nam. And, therefore, I had never been so drunk that I would have followed the man who helped me crawl out of the bottle into hell and back again if he asked it of me. "No," I stammered, the memory fading into one of me going on the wagon only because Beth had asked it of me. When I had come back and saw that she was still there, I promised myself then and there to do anything she asked to keep her in my life. I may not have felt like I belonged as much with her, but it was better than nothing. "No, just remembering something I saw on TV, I guess," I faltered, not really sure where I had gotten the vision of me beating on the vending machine from.

"So, we gonna work on our special project?" she asked, giving me a wry smile.

"Oh, hon," I said, remembering that I had promised her part of Saturday to work on her latest obsession, my computer. "I've really got to work on this latest job the Navy gave me. I promised them a review on Monday."

"But you've got all day tomorrow," she said slyly. She turned puppy dog eyes on me, and I felt my resolve wavering. I could never ignore Sam when he turned that hazel, needful look on me. _I'm changing her sex again!_ I cried, confused, _and her eyes are brown like mine, not hazel_. "Come on, Dad," she egged, pulling me into the living room, "it's not like you'd be able to focus on work today anyway. You never have much concentration when you've got a hangover."

I thought a bit, trying desperately to remember why I had been so anxious to get to work, _something to do with a quantum accelerator_ , and decided she was right: my drinking had done nothing but harm to me this morning, giving me all sorts of hinky thoughts. "Okay," I agreed, smiling as her face lit up with joy. She had always been my favorite daughter for some reason, and we had a special kinship that wasn't equaled in any of my other family relations. It was like she was a friend rather than a daughter, and I could talk to her about many things I found embarrassing with the other girls. I still remember the first time she came to me with a question about sex, and we ended up spending a lengthy time talking about her sex life as well as mine. It wasn't as awkward as it should've been, for some reason, and we always had a hard time explaining our relationship to others. But at the same time, there was a part of me that felt all of this – Beth, the girls, even the desk job – was temporary, like it wasn't real.

She pulled me into the living room that also acted as my office, as a corner was set aside for my desk and computer. Samantha was extremely bright, as I mentioned before; she often flitted from one project to the next, discussing the big bang theory and literary criticism of Don Quixote in the same conversation. Her interests, though, went in waves; she would become terribly obsessed about something for all of two weeks, then drop it as if it had never existed when something else caught her interest. Her latest had been the concept of artificial intelligence, and she had taken to fiddling with my computer in every spare moment she had.

She turned on the monitor and hard drive, and as she sat down in one of the chairs at the desk, she smiled and patted the monitor as the computer booted up. "Good morning, Ziggy," she said.

I started coughing on the drink I'd been taking when she welcomed the computer to life. "Ziggy?" I asked as soon as I was able.

"I know it's just an inanimate object," Samantha said, giving me a familiar grin, "but like you said, the first step in creating an intelligent computer is in treating it like it's human. I took your advice and named her Ziggy."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Al has his first flashback: just how DID Ziggy get her name?

StarBright, 1983. The project was nearing the end, and Sam and I were instead pouring over his plans for the first parallel hybrid computer. He had floored me earlier in the year with his real dreams, time travel. We had been arguing over little stuff, nitpicking what exactly constituted artificial intelligence and whether treating the computer like a human would make it think it was human.

We had taken a much-deserved break, not really wanting to do any kind of work on this lazy Monday afternoon. Sam was sitting on the couch, and I was at my desk – catching up on my leisure reading.

"I think he needs an ego to be human," Sam said, bringing the topic back to the forefront.

"He?" I asked, wondering what Sam would say when he heard the voice I had given the computer. The definite sultry female voice I specifically picked out to make the Prudent Prince think twice about what exactly made something human. 

"Yeah, he," Sam said with a grin. "Gotta give it a sex some time, right? We also need a name for him."

I hadn't been paying much attention to Sam at this time, instead joyfully reading yesterday's comics section, my feet up on my desk. "Yeah?" I said, only half listening. "A name, huh?" 

"What about Alpha?" Sam asked, and I could feel his eyes bearing into my soul.

I pretended to be really intense in my reading, though, and gave a short bark of a laugh at his logical mind. "Only you would think of naming a computer after the first letter of the Greek alphabet," I sniggered, ruffling the newspaper in response, covering up the slight hard-on I always got when he looked at me like that.

"Oh, and what would you name him?" Sam asked, coming over to my side. I tried acting like I was still reading, but knowing he could tell his nearness was getting to me. He leaned over my shoulder, his cheek nearly touching my day-old stubble, and I caught my breath as his hand snaked down my left arm. "Garfield, I suppose," he said, turning his face slightly toward me, pointing at the Jim Davis cartoon. 

I could feel his breath on my cheek, could see his face slightly flushed, his lips dry with desire. I felt myself hardening even further, lost in those hazel eyes once again. I had no idea when our relationship had become this . . . whatever it was. Not quite friendship, not quite more, it was a hazy conglomerate of all relationships, and I knew it was bound to become the best one I ever had. 

"Na," I said, surprised at how calm my voice sounded. "We name it that, we would just have a computer intent on bein' lazy and eatin' lasagna," I tried to joke. "No, if she is supposed to be human, I guess the comic with the most human quirks would be Ziggy." 

"Then Ziggy it is," he said, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. Time seemed to freeze for just a moment, his hand on mine, his eyes on my face. But I was nowhere near ready for this step in our relationship, having a male lover to not-explain to the Navy. And part of me wondered if Sam was ready; after all, I could tell part of him was still intensely upset at the whole Donna mess that happened last year. So, I broke the spell – turning the pages of the newspaper, and acting like I was still reading. I breathed a slight sigh of relief when he returned back to the plans, somehow picking up on my thoughts. "But what makes you think it should be a she?" he said as if nothing had happened, pouring back over the blueprints.

"If you want to give it an ego," I joked, covering up the sense of loss the decision filled me with, "it's gotta be a woman. They're the ones with the big . . . uh . . . egos." We both laughed at my admittance. I would know, after all, having just ended my fourth marriage and leaving behind a string of ex-girlfriends. The laugh broke the sexual tension that had risen in the room, and we continued our conversation, Sam insisting we kept it as a he, despite the voice. I could never say no to him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in Al's present, Ziggy is still Ziggy, and he finds out more about what's going on in his 'new' life.

"You named my computer off a comic strip character?" I asked, wondering about the brief memory of the other Sam and Ziggy.

"Hey, it was your idea," Samantha said with a grin. My mind was then filled with the conversation we had last weekend, how I suggested that naming the computer would be a good first step toward making it more human. I remembered suggesting that she should have a name, telling Samantha that since ships were female, we might as well assume computers could be as well. 

Like that other memory that was slowly slipping away, I had offered the name "Ziggy" as more of a joke than anything else. After all, Ziggy was used to having the world dump on him, so the computer should be used to information just dumping in her as well. Samantha had jumped at the concept, christening the computer in a mock formality, dubbing it like a knight errant. We had finished the day singing the song from _Man of La Mancha_ where the innkeeper had dubbed Don Quixote, "Knight of the Woeful Countenance". 

"Yeah, I guess it was," I said. I had an overwhelming sense of knowledge that the computer would talk, should talk, and I casually asked, "Have you given her the ability to speak?"

"No," she said, gently thwapping my arm. "Your computer isn't that powerful," she joked. "We're lucky if we can get her to acknowledge us by name." She pointed at the monitor, and I laughed as I saw a blinking cursor on the screen. _Good afternoon, Captain Calavicci_ , it said. 

"Why'd you have it give me rank?" I asked, surprised that my daughter would have programmed the computer to give me that message. 

"I didn't," she said, turning a look of wonder at me. "I had actually programmed it to call you 'sweetie-pie', to make ya squirm. I didn't think I had given it knowledge of your rank."

"Oh, well," I hedged, suddenly unsure of anything in my life. Once again, I had the feeling that it was all temporary, ready to evaporate at a whim's notice. I tried getting back on track. "Maybe it caught it off my personal stuff I have on there. I've got a lot of Naval correspondence in there, after all."

"Yeah, I guess," she said. "I mean, she picked up it was afternoon from her internal clock, didn't she?" 

"Yeah," I echoed. _I was lost, lost in those hazel eyes._ I felt a sudden sense of desire flare up at the retreating memory of the man in my memory, leaning over my shoulder with lips dry with desire. I smothered the thought, _no way in this man's Navy_, and turned my thoughts to Beth instead. "Hey, when's your mom due back?" 

"Oh, that's right," she said, an ironic smile hiding in her face. "You two start counseling tonight, don't you?" 

"Counseling?" I squeaked. _Don't tell me we're seeing a marriage counselor!_

"Great act, Dad," she said, finishing the smile. "Maybe Mom'll buy it this time."

"I must've hit my head harder than I realized this morning," I said, bluffing yet again. "You wanna remind me why she and I are goin' to counseling?"

"You want her reason, or yours?" 

"Which one's worse?" I asked hesitantly.

"Depends," Samantha said. "Mom told me you've been . . . shall we say . . . less than amorous lately?" she giggled. "Part of her believes your excuse that it's because of Tina's pregnancy, but part of her picked up on the fact that you stopped bein' the Italian Stallion right around the time you got that new secretary of yours."

 _Can't keep it in your pants, can you Calavicci?_ "I'd never cheat on your mother, and both of you know it."

This time, it was Samantha's turn to choke as her drink splattered across my face. "Cheat?" she strangled out, giving me a look of disbelief. "That's a good one, Dad. I'd love to see the counselor's face at the concept of you cheating with your male secretary."

"Male . . . secretary?" I faltered, wiping my face.

"Yeah. You sure you're okay?" she asked, giving me a worried look.

"Just . . . humor me," I said. 

"Okay," she said, the worry not going away. "Mom thinks your hostility toward him and the new 'don't ask, don't tell' policy is affecting you a lot more than you realize. She's afraid you think your masculinity is in question, what with your secretary being male in the first place and gay in the second."

"Gay?" I asked. "How do I know he's gay?" I wasn't sure I wanted to know, if his involvement in my life left me 'less than amorous' with Beth.

"You're kidding me, right Dad?" Samantha asked, clearly surprised that I didn't remember even this.

"Well, that seems to go against the 'don't ask, don't tell' policy if I know about it," I insisted. 

"The guy came out, unintentionally, last year," she started, giving me a look to see if it was ringing any bells, "and you've been joking that he's the 'token gay' on your force, just like certain areas would get blacks or women when those rules got changed – more for show than for actual production. You've been talking about how they assigned the ensign to you specifically, Dad," she continued, clearly not happy with this aspect of my personality. "You know, in the hopes you'll scare him out."

"Oh," I said, not sure how to take this side of my personality. While part of me now wondered where I came up with such tripe, part of me vividly remembered the homophobia and fear that caused me to react that way. "And my reason for going?" I asked, getting the conversation back to where it was. 

"You don't want to pay alimony." I gargled a laugh at that one, _one alimony payment's a hell of a lot cheaper than four_ , and let her continue. "Seriously, she got so mad at you a couple of weeks ago that she threw the 'd' word at you – again. You told me you hadn't seen her that mad since you told her you were going back to Vietnam." She gave me a sympathetic smile. "As a result, you promised her you'd try it." She giggled again, then said, "'Bena may be interested in psychiatry, but you still hate 'em and seem to think it'll hurt your rough and tumble image. Mom must've really had you scared."

"Yeah," I said, thinking briefly of what I would do if she divorced me now. How could I live, what would I do, without her being a part of my life? _You'd still have Sam_ , a voice said in my head, and part of my brain tried working out why I only thought of the one daughter. "She means everything to me," I said distantly, an echo of an echo. _I'd give up everything to have Sam home_ , I vaguely recalled saying once, _even give up Beth_. 

"I know she does," Samantha said, patting my hand. "There's nothing in the world you wouldn't do for her." Another echo in my head, this time a male voice, _if I'm Don Quixote, then Al is my Sancho. There isn't anything in the world he wouldn't do for me_. I was also a little bit Aldonza in a warped way, Sam always seeing me for more than I was. He had been the one who convinced me to get my stars; he had been the one who kept me sane through five failed marriages; he had believed in me almost as much as he had believed in the impossible dream.

 _What am I sayin'?_ I thought, shaking away from where they were leading. _I don't have stars, for Christ's sake, I don't have more than one wife, and why in the HELL do I keep thinking of Samantha in the masculine?_ This was starting to be one hell of a day.

"Let's get to work and think about that later, huh, kiddo?" I said, wanting to change the subject. So, I kept myself busy helping her on her latest adventure into computers, and kept my thoughts away from divorce, admiralship, lack of belief in myself, and an ache so deep only a man I never knew could fill it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, yeah - I totally got wrong how DADT is supposed to work. It was 2000, and I didn't do enough research. Just go with it. ;-)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beth and Al go to their first marriage counseling session. It goes ... about as well as you'd expect.

"Ah, Captain and Mrs. Calavicci," said the female standing in the doorway, "come on in." _I hate shrinks_ , I thought, willing myself nonetheless to enter the office. My wandering eyes cast over the form of the doctor, and I had to regretfully give her the Calavicci thumbs up. A tall redhead, made even taller by her spiked heels, I had the feeling she looked familiar. _Wasn't Tina's older sister a shrink in Washington?_ I wondered. I shook my head, realizing, _Tina's your oldest and it's Verbena who's interested in being a shrink_. I coughed, covering my confusion, and walked to one of the chairs that sat opposite the desk. "I'm Katherine," she continued, shaking my hand, "Katherine Martinez."

"Martinez?" I asked, somehow knowing that name. Another flash of memory happened, and I carefully asked, "You wouldn't happen to have a younger sister named Tina, would you?" 

I saw her face fill with confusion, mirroring Beth's own at my odd comment, and she said, "Yes, actually. How did you know?" 

I hedged, saying, "Our oldest is named Tina. Just sounded like a name that would go good in front of Martinez." _Tina_ _Martinez-O'Farrell_ , I remembered, thinking back to a young girl applying for the position of Communications Pulse Technician. _What the hell is that?_ 

"Well, you're right," Katherine said with a laugh. "My mom always said she loved the name Christina. But Dad got his way first, naming me Katie after his little sister."

_My little sister Katie_ , I heard a voice say to me, pointing out a picture of a sweet little girl in pigtails. _She's now with Mom in Hawaii, with her husband Jim._ I tried placing the voice, tried remembering who had told me about his little sister Katie, and couldn't. All I could remember was hazel eyes and brownish-blond hair ( _with a small streak of white_ ). "Well, Katherine sounds just as good," I smiled, letting the Calavicci charm flow.

"Thanks. Please," she said, smiling, and motioned to the chairs, "sit down." 

"You don't want us to lie down on a couch or somethin'?" I asked, placing a hesitant hand on the back of the chair.

"No, Captain," she said, returning to her side of the desk. "That's just a stereotype, perpetuated in the movies and TV. Although I do admit that lying down has gotten some patients to relax to the point of actually talking about their problems." She smiled at me, and finished, "But I find that if I have my patients lie down, they're more likely to fall asleep than tell me anything of a personal nature."

I returned the smile, knowing Beth had gone to the "trouble" of telling this Dr. Martinez my dislike of shrinks. I mean, I know the Navy is getting better about the stigma attached to seein' a shrink, and the fact that it was a marriage counselor would actually help my case, but I still was quite aware that my permanent record would have this little part of my life open for all the world to see. 

"Can I get you two some tea or coffee?" Dr. Martinez said as she shuffled paperwork on her desk.

"Coffee," I grumbled, holding back the sarcastic comment about tea bein' for sissies, "black." Beth gave her order, coffee with lots of cream and sugar, and we eventually sat down with the drinks in our hands. 

"Now," the doc said, "Mrs. Calavicci, since you're the one who contacted me, why don't we start with you."

"Well, Doctor," Beth said, nervous (whether it was due to her own feelings about shrinks or because she knew mine, I wasn't sure), "as I told you on the phone . . . ."

"No, Mrs. Calavicci," Dr. Martinez quietly interrupted, setting her own coffee on the desk and pulling out a pad of paper, "don't repeat your earlier words. Try telling me as if I knew nothing about the situation."

"Okay," Beth said, clearly thrown by this odd tactic. "Albert and I have always had . . . a . . . what you'd call an active . . . bedroom life," she said, giving a nervous giggle and blushing. I preened as she added, "He is Italian, after all." She continued, "But lately he's been acting odd, distant even. The last time we went this long was when he finally came back from Vietnam."

"What happened when he returned?" 

"What the hell does that have to do with anything?" I said, aching for a cigar more than usual, and taking a sip of coffee as a substitute.

"Captain," Dr. Martinez admonished me, "if your wife is comparing your current . . . situation with when you returned from being a P.O.W., there might be a reason." She turned back to Beth, and repeated, "What happened when he came back?"

Beth gave me a sympathetic look, saying, "I know it was hard on you, honey, but . . . ." She paused, and took a breath. "When you stepped off that plane, you seemed so surprised to see me waiting for you. And the first few weeks you were back, you kept on giving me looks – as though you expected me to disappear." 

"You were all that kept me goin', Beth," I said. "You helped me feel like I at least belonged somewhere." I set my cup down and took her hand. "But I spent more years in that jungle than I care to remember, and I wouldn't have blamed you if you had taken off with someone else." _Someone named Dirk_ , my brain acknowledged, and I shook my head at the thought, trying to clear my memory – one more time. "I can understand, waiting all those years for the love of your life to return to you, not being able to touch or help. It's not like you had someone there to tell you if I was all right, or even still alive, or anything like that."

"That's not entirely true," Beth said, giving my hand a squeeze and a gentle smile graced her face as she set down her own coffee. "I had my angel." 

I groaned, putting my head in my hand. "Not your angel," I sighed, not wanting to hear that story of hers yet again. Part of my brain, though, didn't remember the tale that the rest of my memory insisted I had heard time and again.

"Angel?" Dr. Martinez said casually, betraying her psychiatric role just a little by the way her hand jerked on the pad of paper at the word.

"I know it sounds silly," Beth said, turning her face toward the doctor, "but I believe I had a visit from an angel. It was April, 1969, and I had been near giving up on Al ever returning." She turned to me apologetically, saying, "I always loved you, don't get me wrong, but you had been gone a long time. There was this gentleman who reminded me of what it was like to be a woman, and I felt very drawn to him." She turned her look back to the doc, continuing, "I had been listening to our song, trying to decide what to do with my life, when he showed up."

"Your angel?" the doc said. I may hate shrinks, but I could understand them. I could hear in her voice that she was wondering if Beth really expected someone to believe her. I was used to it, though. Beth usually got that reaction when she told this story – mainly from me. 

"Yes," Beth said, a gentle smile at the memory. "He was just there, somehow, without coming in. And when I looked at him, I knew I could trust him with my life. There was this . . . ."

_Aura_ , I supplied silently, part of my brain knowing the word from a past I no longer had, the other part remembering it from the previous times she had told me the story.

"This aura about him," Beth continued, "that made me know I was safe. And I was right by the door and hadn't heard it open – that's how I knew he was an angel." 

"And what did this . . . angel want?" My eyes slit, giving a silent warning to the shrink, and I saw her do a double take as she took it in.

"He told me he was a friend of Al's," she said, giving my hand another squeeze, "and that Al was coming home. The next day, I called the gentleman and let him know I wanted to wait a little bit longer." She gave the shrink another gentle smile, and said, "I readily admit my faith wavered from time to time, but when Al's picture – you know, the one that ended up winning the Pulitzer – came out, I knew my angel had been right. I never doubted my Al would return after that." 

"What did this . . . angel look like?" the doc asked. I perked up at this, curious as well. I couldn't remember if she had ever been asked to describe him, and I had an overwhelming urge to know what this man looked like.

"He . . . he was a tall man," she began, "sweet and innocent in a way. He had the greenest eyes I had ever seen, and light brown hair." She blushed, continuing, "He was a handsome man, but he had this odd streak of white in his hair." I choked on the coffee as the picture she described merged with the images I'd been seein' all day long.

"Went down the wrong pipe," I strangled out the excuse, giving another cough. After making sure I was okay, the conversation continued. 

"Did he say anything else?" Dr. Martinez asked. "He give you a name or anything?" 

"Now that you mention it," Beth said, her face showing the signs of an epiphany, "he said his name was Sam. That's why I named one of our daughters Samantha. I wanted to remember my angel." 

_Sam_ , I remembered saying, seeing the image of hazel and white and brown this morning, and the intense ache the name was accompanied by. I shook my head, trying to get my memories back into line, and decided that she must've described her 'angel' to me before – that had to be the reason his description sounded so familiar. 

Dr. Martinez, confusing my shake for something else, turned to me, saying, "You don't believe her, do you, Captain?"

"I don't believe in angels," I said. "Ghosts, yes, but not angels." For some reason, I was very bothered by the concept of the man Beth saw bein' a ghost, and so I quickly changed tactics. "But hey, if it led my wife to wait for me, I would let her think she was visited by the Pope himself. I still can't believe she waited for me all that time." 

"So, you didn't instigate sex at first because you felt you didn't deserve her, didn't belong in her world?" the doc asked me. 

"I guess," I regretfully admitted. "I mean, I had just gotten out of the most horrendous time of my life; I was still hearin' Charlie in the bushes at night, still only able to eat rice. I guess I felt if I tried anything, she'd just go away – and I'd still be in that cage in 'Nam."

"And is there some aspect of your life now that makes you think it's too good to be true?" she prodded.

"I guess," I hedged, not wanting her to know how temporary it all felt to me. "With Tina bein' pregnant, and 'Bena ready to graduate from college, and our 39th anniversary comin' up next month, it all just seems a little too surreal – like it shouldn't even be happening."

"But Tina's been pregnant for a while now, Al," Beth said, trying to understand. "She's due any day now, in fact. But it's only been recently that you stopped . . . stopped . . . ." 

"I think she gets the picture," I said, helping her out of her dilemma. 

"So what's been happening recently?" Dr. Martinez asked. 

_Aside from me not bein' here?_ I wanted to ask, but didn't know why. The look Beth gave me was one of sheer disbelief. "He has a new secretary." 

"So you think his . . . energy is being directed elsewhere?" I would have laughed, knowing what I know now about who (and what) my secretary was, except that I had made the same mistake when talking to Samantha.

"Oh, no," Beth said, her entire face red at the visual that must have presented, "at least not in the way you're suggesting. His secretary's male."

"So?"

"So?" I cried, jumping out of my chair. "What do you mean, so? I don't swing that way, doc, not in this man's Navy!" 

"Calm down, Captain," Dr. Martinez said, rising to meet my stance. "I'm not trying to insult you or anything." She cracked a slight grin and said, "Besides, I thought the military changed its tune regarding gays in the service."

"Yeah, well," I stammered, _the gentleman doth protest too much_ , "the phrase 'don't ask, don't tell' translates into I don't ask, so don't tell me. He may be the 'token' gay, but I am most definitely straight. Hell, if I wasn't married to Beth, I'd probably have a girl in every port."

"I'm sure your wife is relieved to hear that, Captain," the doctor said with a nod toward Beth. I turned and saw she was more embarrassed, either at my behavior or at my conversation.

"Sorry, babe," I said, sitting back down and giving her hand a squeeze. "You know I'd never cheat on you. But I ain't dead," I tried cracking my famous grin and was pleased to see her start to return it. 

"So this secretary of yours makes you uncomfortable," Dr. Martinez said. 

"No shit, Sherlock." 

"And your lack of . . . amorous behavior started right around the time he was assigned to you."

"Looks that way." I didn't like the way this conversation was headed. _Seeing green eyes over Beth's this morning, wishing it was broad shoulders I had my arms around, smelling a familiar masculine scent as I had kissed her hair._

"And you obviously have never explored the possibility that you might find men attractive."

"Perhaps you missed the fact that I just said I'm straight as an arrow, Doc?" I said, returning her knowing look, trying to not think of the masculine image in my mind.

Still standing, she turned to the bookshelf behind her. "Have you ever read Morgan?" she asked, pulling a book off the shelf. As she tried to hand it to me, I saw it was on sexuality, entitled _Shades of Gray_.

"What's this?" I said, not quite taking it. 

"It's a book, Captain," she said, smirking. "She postulates some interesting theories on sexuality, mainly that it isn't a question of one or the other."

"What?" I asked. But part of my brain remembered someone handing me this book when I worked at StarBright, a gift Sam had given as a way to explain how he could find both men and women attractive. _What the hell?_ I thought. _What's StarBright?_ I didn't want to try and figure out why I had thought of a masculine Sam yet again. 

"Shades of gray," she said, pointing at the title. "She believes that sexual desire is more of a scale, like Dr. Kinsey says, with one end being so straight you'd never even think homosexual thoughts and the other end being so homosexual you end up a stereotype. But almost everybody, she writes, winds up in the middle somewhere. To quote the Monkees, 'No black or white, only shades of gray'," she said, giving me another smile. 

"So you're thinkin' that my lack of attention to my wife is caused by some sick feelings I'm havin' for my secretary?" I asked. I wasn't really that upset, but knew the uniform I wore – and the job I needed for my family – almost required me to act disgusted at the concept. Besides, how could I tell my wife, the one woman I truly ever loved, that I was thinking of her 'angel' when I kissed her? She'd think I'd gone off the deep end.

"I didn't say that," she said. "All I'm suggesting is that having a gay male in your life has maybe made you start to wonder about that side of the street, and as a result you have had your libido compromised." 

"Well," I said, standing again, scared and angry at how close she was coming to hitting the truth, "you'll pardon my words, Doc," I continued, spitting out the word as the insult I deemed it, "and my attitude, but I was raised in a Catholic orphanage and went almost directly into the Navy. The same Navy, I might add, that may have accepted the 'don't ask, don't tell' policy but will still short-circuit your career if they suspect you of battin' for the other team. The ensign I was assigned may be willing to kill his career, but I won't have you suspecting me of something I'm not, giving my life and career the once-over." I took a deep breath, calming my anger, and I straightened the suit I now wore. "I am not a God-damned fag, Doc, and I don't like you implying that I am. Now, good day to you." And I promptly turned on my heel and stormed out of the office, barely aware of Beth giving her apologies and quickly following.

I didn't stop to think until I got inside our vehicle, one hand on the gearshift, the other on the steering wheel. I sat there, purposely calming my breath, waiting for Beth to catch up. I closed my eyes, counting to myself, and felt a hand cover mine in a gesture of sympathy. And my mind exploded with memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder that I wrote this in the early 2000s: the movie "Kinsey" had just come out, and the idea that there was a sexuality spectrum was still widely not acknowledged publicly. 
> 
> The book mentioned doesn't exist: the author is named after the first out lesbian I ever knew, a college professor of mine.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Al has a flashback to another car, with another lover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, those of you who like explicit - this is pretty much as graphic as I get on this story. 
> 
> If you're interested, [HERE](http://kylaraingress.tumblr.com/) is my Tumblr. Not updated very often.

Sam's hand covered mine over the gearshift, giving it a pleasant squeeze as we sped down the desert road. He was laughing, the wind whipping through his hair, an Eagles song on the radio, truly happy as we tested the prototype car he had helped me create. His eyes looked at the stars above; we were far enough away from civilization that the blanket of the sky was clear and bright. And I drove fiercely, a cigar in my mouth, one hand on the wheel, and an answering smile on my face. 

We had just gotten some additional funding for Quantum Leap, a second year bought and paid for by the U.S. Government, and I had told Sam that this was a time for celebrating. It had been a hectic couple of months, tense moments filled with dread as we waited to hear back from the committee; after all, they had given us one year, but that never guaranteed a second. Our jobs were secure . . . at least until another nozzle from Washington decided to investigate Sam's theories and the way we spent the taxpayers' money.

"Over there," Sam said, pointing to an open area near the road. He had let me drive the car – the only rule was that we had to use it to go stargazing. After all, why waste the glorious capabilities of this convertible on anything else?

I pulled off of the road, purposely fishtailing to create a cloud of dust behind me, and jerked the car to a stop. "So what do we do now?" I asked, acting like stargazing was a new concept for me. 

He turned to me, giving me another squeeze on my hand, and a quick peck on the cheek. "Well, I don't know about you, but I think this front seat is a little too cramped to snuggle under the stars." 

I stubbed the cigar out as I mentally adjusted to the kiss. We were still in the beginning stages of this romantic aspect of our relationship, and I was still not used to this side of our 'friendship'. Sam seemed to take to it like . . . well, like a duck to water, but then again, he'd known he was bisexual most of his life. 

"Snuggle, huh?" I asked, noting the caution and hesitation in my voice. I couldn't help remembering what I had said to Tina not two days ago, about how I had yet to christen my new car in the 'proper Calavicci way'.

"Yeah," he said, giving me that goofy-assed grin of his, noting my unease. "Just snuggle." He got up, took off his jacket, taking a bit of time to arrange it on the front seat, and climbed into the back. "Come on, Al," he said, brushing my shoulder with his legs as he climbed in back, "I promise I'll be good." 

_I bet you will_ , I thought, noting the double meaning that phrase had. I gave him another dubious look and decided that gazing at the stars with Sam sitting next to me had definite appeal. It was where I belonged.

I climbed into the backseat, trying not to notice Sam's hand sliding up my leg as I stepped past the gearshift, and gave a sigh of regret as he stopped just short of the danger zone. Seeing his face crease in concern, I covered my regret by pointing up to the stars, saying, "Ain't they beautiful?"

He leaned back, his back against my chest, and moved my right arm to a casual embrace around him. "It's all beautiful," he said, meaning the stars, the desert, and us.

We sat there for a minute in silence, gazing at the midnight blues of the sky above us, the browns and silvers of the desert beside us, and the red and brown leather of the car around us. He gave an answering sigh, and asked, "What was it like, Al? To be up there, looking down?" 

That had to have been the hardest question I ever got about my time as an astronaut. I usually gave a glib answer, something witty and pointless, since it was so indescribable. But I knew Sam deserved better, and I sat further back into the car, thinking about it. "It was like touching the face of God," I finally said, "and being asked to walk beside Him." 

He turned to me, a shocked look on his face. I guess he expected my usual flippancy as well. "You really are a romantic, aren't you, Al?" he said, drawing his face toward mine. 

Still looking up, but still conscious of his growing nearness, I said, "In my heart, I guess." I paused, then turned to look back down at him, and playfully growled, "And if you tell anyone, I'll pummel ya!" 

He cracked a grin, and said mischievously, "Is that a threat, or a promise?"

"Sam!" I couldn't help it – usually I'm the one to see double entendres.

"Sorry, Al," he said, clearly chagrined, and gave me that pouting look I had learned was his way of asking for a kiss.

So, I bent my head down, feeling odd at being the taller one as we sat in the car, and gave him what was supposed to be a light brush on the lips. He obviously had different ideas, as he leaned into the kiss, turning it into a sudden flame of passion.

Suddenly, we were a tangle of arms, legs, and desire – laced with a little bit of humor.

"Hey, watch the leather, kid!"

"Sorry, Al. Can't stop now, right?"

"Right, but watch where you put your . . . ."

"Ow!"

"Sorry, kid – tryin' to do this right, ya know?" 

"Yeah, Tina told me how you were looking forward to christening this car."

"She told you what?"

"I figured if you were that eager, I was always obliging. Unbutton your shirt."

"Okay," I said, and had two buttons undone before it dawned on me. "Hey, wait! How do you know it was you I was gonna christen this car with?"

"I could always hope." Hands danced down my sides, pulling at the tug of fabric held by my pants. "When you suggested we test your car, I figured I had my chance." A pause as he drank me in with his eyes. "God, Al, but you turn me on."

He was seducing me! He had seduced me, I had to admit, as my shirt got diverged from my skin. And as he took his own shirt off, I found that he wasn't the only one turned on. And my hormones took over. "Move your knees," I commanded. 

"Can't. Maybe if you went this way?" 

"Your legs are too damn long!"

"No, this car is too damn small. Maybe we should've taken my Explorer."

"No way, kid. I wouldn't be caught dead in one of those yuppie nightmares!"

"Well, it is more practical for this kind of thing. The backseat is much more spacious than this."

"Well, I didn't know you were plannin' this, did I? Here, try puttin' your leg here."

"Oh, I like that! Ow!" 

"You okay, kid?" 

"Hit my head against the back of the seat. There, like that? Oh, yeah."

"You know we're gonna need . . . ."

"Check my jacket pocket."

"Should've guessed you'd be prepared, ya Boy Scout!" 

"Hey, when I plan a seduction, I plan a seduction! Got 'em?"

"Yeah. Maybe we should go to a motel for this."

"No. Has to be now, has to be here. No way am I going to have the car I helped build be christened 'the Calavicci way' with Tina!"

"Look, I'm sorry 'bout that. I'm still gettin' used to us, you know."

"I know. Besides, I don't think I could wait much longer." There was a short pause as our bodies tried to find the most comfortable spot. Then I felt a giggle ripple through his body.

"Damn it, Sam! You made me drop it! What's so funny?"

"Sorry, this is worse than a slapstick comedy."

"Oh, that's an erotic thought!"

"Sorry, Al. Does . . . this make it better?"

"Jesus, kid," I panted. "Yeah. Like that. Oh, keep your hands there. Keep touchin' me, Sam. Never stop touching me."

"Mmmm, Al, you better hurry up. I can't wait for you much longer, lover."

"What did you call me?" 

The smile spread across his face and he purred, dreamily, "Lover."

I almost came on the spot, but I held it together long enough to enter him. We both groaned in ecstasy as we finally christened my car in the proper 'Calavicci way'. Everything suddenly became good, everything suddenly felt right. I finally belonged. _My love, my Sam._ He was finally mine, and I was finally his, and we were both damn determined that this first time would be the best time.

After the ecstasy washed over our bodies, we went back to watching the stars, back in our original positions . . . only the slight difference of the lack of clothing on either of our bodies. I glanced down, my hand over his chest, and calmly moved aside the white hank of his hair with my other hand to give a slight kiss to his temple. And I gave my own chuckle.

He looked up at me with love shining in his eyes, asking for an explanation without saying a word.

"Sorry, Sam," I said, smothering the laugh. "Just had a visual of trying to explain this to anyone who might come along."

"I was suffering from hypothermia and needed the warmth of body heat?" he offered deadpan.

He joined my laughter as we dealt with the awkwardness that naturally came with a first time. I sighed pleasantly and said, almost without thinking, "God, I love ya, Sam."

He looked at me and I could see the surprise he felt at the phrase. "You do?"

"Yeah." I knew I didn't say it often; hell, I think the last one was when I said it to him for the very first time.

"I love you, too, Al."

"You do?" I tried my best to imitate his heartfelt plea, and he smiled.

"I love you so much."

"Not as much as I love you, Sam. You're my life, my reason for living." All kidding aside, I gave him a brief peck on the lips and said, "I love you, Sam Beckett." And the rest of my words were smothered in a kiss much like the one that started it all.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Al and Beth return from their first counseling session.

"Al, you okay?" It was Beth, her hand giving me a squeeze, trying to calm me down. Although I doubted she'd believe me if I told her I was calmin' down from hormones now rather than anger. 

"Let's just get goin'," I snarled, snatching my hand away from her. The memory in the car was disappearing quickly, and I found myself wondering why I was so worked up. _Oh, yeah_ , I realized, _the doc_. She had hit closer to home with her accusations than I wanted to admit. I started to wonder why everywhere I turned I saw those same damn hazel eyes, that same damn streak of white against light brown, and I felt that ache of loneliness once again. I'd never been turned on by a man before, had I? 

I shook my head again, concentrating on the road beneath the car ( _an Explorer, for cryin' out loud!_ ). I tried to remember a time I ever thought any of my masculine friends were sexy. I realized I didn't really have too many close friends, having just enough time for work and family. I hadn't trusted anyone but Beth to get that close to me, not even the guys from 'Nam. I'd rather swim through a patch of piranhas than keep in contact with them – too many bad memories. Beth . . . Beth was more important to me than any friendship, but even she didn't fill that ache, I realized.

We reached the house, and Beth gave me one look and disappeared into the bedroom. As I filtered through the kitchen to our room, I caught Samantha giving me an all-knowing look. _Sam could always read me like a book_ , I thought, knowing she was willing to talk.

"The other girls around?" I casually asked, wincing as I heard the shower in the bathroom turn on. My escape was alcohol, Beth's was cleanliness – in body, mind, and spirit.

"Tina went home," she said with a smirk, "still pouting at Donna makin' fun of her. 'Bena's back at her apartment, trying to not get between them, and Donna went off to a supposed slumber party." Their loss wasn't anything, I realized; I felt like I was used to them bein' gone. "You missed a rip-roaring battle," she said with a smile.

"Oh, I don't know," I said, giving a slight look toward the sound of Beth in the shower, "we had a good one ourselves. Seems I'm gettin' old in my old age," I joked, turning my look back to Samantha. I squirmed, though, as I realized she knew what I was thinking. "Would you mind if I had one drink?" I asked, lowering my eyes as a sign of the permission I was asking.

"You know that's the last thing you need right now, Dad," she said, laying her hand on my arm. Moving my head to where I was forced to look in her eyes, she continued, "Wanna tell me why you think you need it?"

I recognized the signs of a graduate of Alcoholics Anonymous, and part of me remembered she had gone through the program with me – as part of our deal. I sighed, thinking over the session with Dr. Martinez, and knew if I had one friend in my life, it was Sam.

"It's this whole gay thing," I said, taking a seat on one of the barstools we had surrounding our island. "The doc tried to convince me that my lack of amorous behavior is because my secretary's makin' me wonder about homosexual tendencies."

"I tried warning you," she said, pouring me a glass of juice and sitting down beside me. "But no, you've been trying to stick with the grandfather excuse this whole time."

I choked, noted I had been doing that a lot lately, and saw the glimmer of a smile in her eyes. "Christ," I swore, "are you tryin' to kill me?" I had to chuckle, though, as I realized she had waited for me to take a drink before she'd said anything.

"Hey," she said, barely keeping control over her laughter, "everyone talks about how I'm favored in your will. I just want what's due me."

"Ha, ha," I said, and put down the glass. "Remind me to change that first thing Monday morning."

"Will do," she said. "So, You've been blowin' your stack over not blowin' your stack?" Where did she get a mouth like that? _Me_ , I realized with a wry grin. _Sailor's daughter._

"Somethin' like that," I acknowledged. I handed over the book the doc had given me, saying, "You ever read this?"

"No, but I'd heard about it," she said, picking it up and quickly scanning the back blurb. "It was pretty radical when it first came out in the late 70s. Hell, it's still pretty radical, especially with the updates she added."

"The doc suggested," I started, then changed, "no, implied that I was not as straight as I'm convinced I am. I got a little . . . peeved."

"I don't think I've ever seen you 'a little peeved'," Samantha said. I suddenly remembered she had just as bad and quick of a temper as I did.

"Okay," I admitted, "I got a lot peeved. She was sittin' there, tellin' me I was havin' sexual problems due to a man, for cryin' out loud. What was I supposed to do?" _What am I supposed to do?_ I continued my litany in my head. _Admit that this morning I saw an image of a man as I kissed your mother? Tell you all that I have a fading memory of gettin' a hard-on due to a man that means more to me than life itself? Let you all know that the sexiest vision I had tonight dealt with a tumble in the backseat of a car I don't remember owning with a man that I don't even know? Let Beth realize that as much as I love her, the only time I feel that ache inside me subside is when I think of her 'angel'?_

"Jeez, Dad," Samantha said, somehow picking up the gist of my thoughts, "this is really bothering you, isn't it?"

Rather than answering her, I finished my drink.

"If you want my honest opinion," she said, the humor leaving her face, "I think you're just overworking yourself. You've had a lot of changes recently, including meeting my boyfriend and his father and all the memories that dredged up. Naturally, your system is going to be reacting differently as well." I felt betrayed, that even Sam couldn't see what was truly going on in my life. She continued, "You just need a good night's sleep. Tell Mom it's doctor's orders."

"It's only nine," I said. "I had a hard enough time gettin' to sleep at three this morning."

"I'll make you a deal," she said, patting my arm. "I'll let you have one drink – just one – if you promise that as soon as you finish these reports for the Navy, you request a couple of days off and relax."

"You'll let me have a drink?" I said, hopeful. For the first time today, things looked like they were going my way.

"Could I ever say no to you?" A flash – hearing someone else saying that, the same voice who had the little sister Katie, followed quickly with a statement, _but you gotta promise me to leave it at one, Al. For me?_ I gasped in shock as I heard my daughter say, "But you gotta promise to leave it at one, Dad." My head jerked up, _halfway expecting Sam_ , and I felt another wave of dizziness like I had this morning. She saw my faltering and reached out to steady me. "If I have to stay in the living room and watch you do your work, I will. I don't want to be an enabler."

"Just one, sweetie," I said, smiling as I saw her bring her other hand from underneath the counter where it had been hidden. It was clasped around the now-familiar bottle of my favorite beverage.

"Well, then," she said, pouring me a shot of Jack, "let's get you ready for bed."

I took a drink, letting the harsh taste coat my throat, closing my eyes to drink the flavor into my system, and I softly said, "I love ya, Sam."

"Sam?" I heard my daughter ask. "You haven't called me Sam since I grew out of my tomboy stage."

I jerked awake, wondering why I half expected to see Beth's 'angel', and quickly apologized. "Sorry. Samantha."

She gave me an odd look, somehow knowing yet again what I was thinking, and patted my hand. "That's okay, Dad. You can call me Sam any time you want." She grabbed my now empty glass and finished, "Now that you've taken your medicine, why don't you go and try and get some sleep?"

I couldn't help it. I smiled, and said again, "I love ya, Sam."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Samantha seems a bit too friendly for a daughter, but I have a good friend who is like this with her parents.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beth and Al reconcile from their fight.

I edged into the bedroom, taking a glance toward the bathroom. The shower was off, but the light could be seen underneath the closed door. The moonlight streamed in, pale and beautiful, caressing the white bed that dominated the room. I sighed as I pulled down the coverlet; it had been one long hell of a day. 

I took another glance toward the bathroom, wondering how long Beth was going to sulk about my temper this time. She knew I was hot-blooded; part of the responsibility of bein' Italian, I always joked. And she, of all people, should know how I hated to have my masculinity in question. I crawled into bed and started my nightly routine of reviewing my day. Looking back, I couldn't think of why it had felt more like a lifetime had gone by rather than just one day; I mean, all I did was wake up late – with a hangover – work with Samantha on her computer project, and go to the counseling session with Beth. I had the vague feeling I was forgetting something, something important, and cursed when all I could come up with was hazel eyes. 

I heard a delicate cough in the doorway of the bathroom and turned to see Beth standing, one arm poised to turn the bathroom light off, dressed in . . . . "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," I said, looking at her form filling out the dark blue lingerie draped around her. It was a two-piece, thin lacy straps holding a top that left little to the imagination, and silky thong underwear to match.

"I was saving this for a special occasion," Beth said, moving her free hand to play nervously with one of the straps on her top. "Mainly June." She smiled, and gave me what I recognized as her attempt at a sexy look. "But I figured you needed this tonight. Going to counseling with me was special enough."

"You're not mad at me?" I had to ask, her attitude toward my burst of anger as we drove up to the house still a fresh memory.

"I was, Al," she said, dropping her gaze for half a second. She returned it with a smile, saying, "But after I thought about it, I decided tonight was a success after all."

"How was it a success?" What was my mouth doing? Here she was, giving me my forgiveness, and I couldn't let it drop.

"Well," she said with a slight giggle, "you didn't kill her." And with that, she flicked off the light.

I watched in appreciation as she slowly stepped into the pale moonlight, faltering slightly as her eyes adjusted. Her body moved like a cat's, lithe and becoming, and I heard the soft shimmer of silk across her shape. She moved to stand next to me, and slowly sat on the edge of the bed.

"Do you want me, Al?" she asked, hesitant, laying a hand on my thigh, the other hand once again playing with the strap at her shoulder.

"I've been a bad boy," I growled, moving one hand to grab the strap. I carefully moved it down to her upper arm and gave her a rough bite on the section where her neck joined her shoulder. "Are you going to punish me?" I continued, stopping my attack on her just long enough to look into those big, brown, _hazel with gold_ , eyes.

"Oh, Al," she giggled nervously. I silenced her with a kiss, letting my mind work on proving to that shrink once and for all what side I buttered my bread on.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Al has another flashback to his (now no longer existing) life with Sam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry - another short chapter here.

"You okay, Al?" I could hear Sam's voice, trying not to sound panicked, as he realized I had locked the door that connected our two offices. But I didn't want to talk to him. I didn't want to talk to anyone.

"Go away, Sam," I said and prayed that this time he would listen to me.

"You know I could break down this door if I wanted to, Al," he said, true enough. He had the strength, not to mention the codes that opened all doors in the brand new facilities for Project Quantum Leap. But Sam wasn't the type of guy to do that, and I knew it for the hollow threat it really was.

"So go ahead and do it," I said, curling my legs up to my chest in a familiar fetal position. My hand went to grab the half-empty bottle of scotch (I had ran out of Jack about two hours ago, and resorted to whatever else I could find). I dropped it, though, somehow coming up with the resolve not to take a drink. Maybe it was knowing Sam was near. 

"Come on, Al," I heard him whine. "I don't want to, but I will if I think your life's in danger."

I barked a laugh at that one. My whole world was falling apart and he was worried about my measly little life?

"I know Maxine meant everything to you," Sam continued, "but you can't sit there and continue blaming yourself for the divorce." 

"I thought she was cheatin' on me, Sam," I said, my voice rough with pain and fear. "I dropped her like a hot tamale the minute I saw her lookin' at another guy." I paused, letting my thoughts wander. "Like I had the right to get upset," I quietly added, silently thinking of how part of me knew her interest in the Marine was just a good excuse for me to break it off. I knew she suspected she wasn't the one I'd been seein' lately in my mind's eye when we had made love, but I seriously doubted she realized I might be seein' my best friend.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked up to see hazel eyes gazing down at me with worry. He had done it, he had actually done it. Mr. Morals had actually broken into my office. He slowly kneeled down by my side, casually moving the scotch bottle out of my reach, and just looked at me, letting his hand linger on my shoulder. 

There wasn't anything else to say. I always knew Sam could read me like a book, that I could never lie to him directly – even when I wanted to. He saw what was in my eyes and pulled me into a hug.

"Just hold me, Sam," I said, feeling his strong arms try yet again to save me from myself. He readily complied, moving my head so that it rested gently on his chest as he sat with his back to my office wall. He petted my hair, slightly rocking the two of us in a calming way I recognized from when I had broke down that first time we met, too drunk to worry about bein' mushy. I barely felt his lips brush my forehead, his throat making the types of sounds you give a stray animal you're trying to tame.

"Just let it out, Al," he said softly, rubbing my back with his other hand. "It's okay, you know."

While part of me knew he meant that it was okay to cry, part of me decided to ignore the consequences of what I knew I was going to say. "Oh, God, Sam, I love you so much." I regretted it as soon as I said it; I wasn't just puttin' my Naval career on the line here, but the best friendship I ever had as well. As soon as it was out, I held my breath, waiting for the flinch, waiting for the hands to drop, waiting for the rest of my world to crumble at my feet. 

"I know," I heard him say, his hands never stopping their consoling. I was suddenly in a Warner Brothers cartoon, runnin' on thin air instead of ground and not even realizing it.

"You . . . know?" I asked, letting my breath out slow, ready to use the alcohol as an excuse for why I had let those dangerous words slip.

I felt his hand move from my hair down to my face, and he slowly brought my chin up to meet his gaze. "You idiot," he said with his goofy-assed grin, "I've been waiting to hear you say that for two years now."

"Two . . . years?" I strangled out, suddenly seeing every move he had made toward me over the past couple of years, every hint and every sign that showed his interest in me. And how those gestures had been slightly curtailed during my brief marriage to Maxine.

"Yeah," he said, moving his other hand to cup my cheek. "I never acted on it because I don't date married men," he said. "And before you ask, I love you, too," he finished, and slowly brought his face down to meet me in a slow, gentle, caring kiss. Our first.

I broke it, the stress of the past few weeks invading my system. I gave a hesitant smile to let him know it wasn't anything he was doing. "Just hold me, Sam," I repeated, not wanting anything more than to feel his arms around me, knowing I was where I belonged.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to the current timeline, Al continues on with his life without Sam.

I broke off the kiss with Beth, the edges of my memory flickering with the knowledge that I was secretly desiring a certain pair of eyes looking at me, a certain masculine set of arms around me, and I was suddenly glad of the darkness of the room as I felt my cheeks flush at the thought.

"Al?" I heard Beth say, drawing slightly away from me in concern.

"Just hold me a minute," I said, the words out of my mouth before I could stop them. 

"Are you okay, hon?" she asked, taking me into an awkward hug, letting me know my actions were unusual for me.

I gave her another hesitant kiss. _I can do this_ , I thought, willing myself back into action. _It's just like ridin' a bicycle_. She didn't need to be worrying about me, she had plenty of other things to worry about in her life. _You can still see women as attractive, even the doc said most people see both men and women attractive at some point in their lives_. 

"I'm fine, Beth," I said, a reaction to my body wanting sex regardless of gender, and as I slowly started working my magic on her, I decided it wouldn't hurt to let my mind wander just a bit to let my body do what it needed to do. As I felt her sigh with pleasure, I echoed it, letting my thoughts wander to a man I no longer knew, a man who had brown hair with a small streak of white in it.

~*~*~*~*~

"You're cooking breakfast, Dad?"

I was whistlin' "The Impossible Dream" as I poured in another batch of pancake batter. Turning, I saw Samantha's face looking at me in shock.

"What?" I asked, barely masking my smile. "You never see your old man cook?" Part of me briefly wondered if she had, once again struck by how transitory this existence felt, then shook my head to clear away the thoughts. 

"Yeah," she said, slipping into a chair. "It's just you don't usually cook unless . . . ."

She trailed off, understanding, as Beth sailed into the room, positively glowing. "Good morning, Samantha," she sung out, giving our daughter a pat on the head.

"Why, you old devil," Samantha giggled, giving me a wink. I returned the wink solemnly and made a grab at Beth's waist as she walked past.

I pulled her to me, dipping her slightly into a breathless kiss, still somehow able to keep one hand on the frying pan at the stove. I pulled her back up, gave her a pat on the cheek (not the one on her face, mind ya) and returned to cooking. "What can I say?" I asked, glancing over at my daughter. "I feel like a new man." 

"Yeah, well, you could probably get one with that kind of attention," she said, giving a laugh.

"I don't think so," I joked back, no longer quite so put off by the concept of homosexuality. "I've got my hands full with your mother."

"Oh, you two," Beth said, her head lost in the refrigerator, "you're just like a couple of kids."

"This ain't no kid," I growled mockingly, letting the pancakes fry as I came up behind her, nuzzling her neck.

"Albert," she said, her face slightly embarrassed, "not in front of Samantha."

I dropped my hands, defeated, and returned back to the pancakes. I started singing what I had been whistling: "To right the unrightable wrong, to love pure and chaste from afar . . ." I trailed off, thinking of the meaning.

"To try, when your arms are too weary," I heard Samantha say in an eerie imitation of Aldonza's last plea, "to reach the unreachable star." We shared a brief look as Beth rolled her eyes at us and patted my arm in her way of humoring me.

"I swear you two are in your own little world sometimes," she said, and I couldn't help but catch the slight jealousy in her voice, picking up that I was sharing something with our daughter that I had never shared with her. _Sitting in an office, listening to the soundtrack to_ Man of La Mancha _, creating the concept for traveling in time during a break from our hectic day at StarBright, Sam laughing at my cracked, smoke-thick voice singing "Aldonza"_.

"Oh," I said, shaking my head once again, "we just spent some time together yesterday working on my computer."

"Yeah," Samantha said, and gave a sly grin as she continued, "and last night I gave Dad some help on getting to sleep."

I held back a laugh, knowing Beth would only drop more out of her mood if she knew why I was laughing, and went back to finishing up fixing breakfast.

"So, are your plans still the same?" I asked Samantha a moment later.

"Yep," she said. "I'll be in the living room doing my homework, so we can keep an eye out for each other."

"What are you two up to?" Beth asked, glancing between us.

"Oh, I made her promise that she'd work on her homework while I work on those Navy reports," I said. "As part of the deal that got me to help her on the computer." 

"Ah," she said. "You think that will work?" she asked me. 

"Don't know," Samantha answered. "It's pretty hard getting him to work at all."

Beth just shook her head in confusion. But I had to laugh. _God, it's good to joke around with Sam_.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just when you thought Sam's influence on Al's life was clear cut...

"This can't be right," I mumbled to myself. 

"What?" Samantha's voice came from the coffee table.

"This," I said, bringing my hands up filled with papers. "It's a research project to help develop alternate fuel type cars." I stopped for a second, tuning into the music she was quietly listening to. "What is that?"

"There is a castle on a cloud," she sung, _Sam always did have a great singing voice_. "Les Mis," she supplied the title. "So, what's so wrong about researching alternate fuel cars?"

"It's not what they're researching," I said, looking through the papers on my desk. "It's that they spent four billion, that's billion with a 'b', by the way, dollars on a prototype car that hasn't been seen in two years. That just sounds a little hinky."

"Well, isn't that what your job is supposed to be?" Samantha asked, giving me a look. "Following the money trail, that is?"

"Yeah," I said, turning back to look at her. "But they've got all the receipts, all the numbers match. It's just the absence of the car itself." 

"So you're trying to figure out if it is a scam in the first place, and how they were able to do it so well in the second."

"Just about. I mean, there is proof they're using the money for the car. But the car has disappeared, supposedly." I gave a shiver as a brief memory, _Sam's hair whipping in the wind as we sped down in the prototype car, going out to stargaze,_ flashed across my mind. 

"Well, I'm sure you'll figure something out." And she bent her head back down to her work. I turned back to my computer, back to working on my report, and casually kept an ear out for her music.

The afternoon wore on, the bet looming ever closer on the horizon, and Samantha only got up once to switch over the CD to the second disc of the soundtrack. I was almost done – on my closing statements – when she started to distract me with her singing.

"Samantha, I'm trying to work here," I grumbled, not really upset. 

"I'm sorry, Dad," she said, obviously not regretting a moment of it. "I just was thinking of you with this song." And she softly sung, "Drink with me, to days gone by," giving me a knowing wink.

"Ha, ha," I said, glancing quickly to see if Beth was near. "I promised you, you know, and I never go back on my promises."

"I know, Dad," she said. I started to say something, and she shushed me, saying, "I love this next song." And she held up her finger, drawing my attention, and she started to sing the prayer of Valjean to God to "Bring Him Home". And I remembered.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Al has another flashback to right before the events of "Mirror Image".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay - remember how I said in the initial notes that this story has some minor references to the Quantum Leap novel _Mirror's Edge_? This is the one chapter that is directly influenced by it. Hopefully it still reads okay if you haven't read the book.

It was the leap from hell. Sam had leaped into one of the richest men in America, Joe Powell, just six months behind us. Powell had creeped us all out, seemingly wanting to be a target for Sam's leaps, having intimate knowledge of Project Quantum Leap. But the scariest was that the man sitting in the waiting room wasn't Swiss-cheesed. He was remembering everything.

I was pulling some pretty big strings, doing anything and everything I could to try and get Sam home at this point. Ziggy was havin' delusions of grandeur regarding Y2K, nearly breaking down in her desire to 'help all computer kind'. Congressman Tom Beckett ( _can you believe Tom in Congress?_ ) had been sent to investigate not only the money trail of PQL, but also came to satiate his concerns around Sam – thinking he was dead and I was usin' him as an excuse to milk more money from the government.

Donna, Sam's wife in this timeline, was starting to believe Beeks' bullshit about Sam not wanting to come home after all.

And I . . . I was running myself ragged. Beeks was threatenin' to have me declared unfit for work, for I had been going pretty much nonstop for the past week. 

I had taken a break to alleviate her worries (hell, she sometimes worried about me just as much as I did Sam) and was in the bathroom that was attached to my office. The janitor, Arnold, came in to clean my office, not knowing I was there. He had a predilection of listening to show tunes while he cleaned, and today was no different; the sounds of _Les Mis_ echoed about him while he cleaned. He barely glanced at me and casually started singing: "God on high, hear my prayer: in my need, you have always been there. He is young, he's afraid. Let him rest, heaven blessed. Bring him home."

I trailed ahead in the song, thinking about the final plea: "You can take, you can give. Let him be, let him live. If I die, let me die; let him live. Bring him home."

And we had shared a look, knowing that was my prayer for Sam – that I would die if it meant letting him live. Like I said before, I would do anything for Sam, even give up Beth. I loved him, after all. In any timeline.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Al finally realizes the sacrifice Sam made for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter, but the next one will be a doozy. Just a reminder that you can follow me on [Tumblr](http://kylaraingress.tumblr.com/), although I don't post too much there.

I jerked away from the memory, grief filling me with the thought of all I had lost. I felt torn in half, like I had lost a part of my soul. And I realized, as tears streamed down my face, that I had. 

Samantha, shocked and dismayed by this uncharacteristic display by her old man, just stood there a minute. Then, quicker than lightning, she was up off the floor and at my side, offering her arms in consolation.

"Oh, God, Sam," I hiccoughed, hugging her tightly, not wanting to let her go. I think part of me knew, knew that the minute I let Sam go, the memories I had garnered would start to evaporate. So, I held on like a drowning man. I wanted to remember. "Sam," I said again, knowing briefly what Sam Beckett had done for me.

"Al?" It was Beth once more, once more dragging me away from that other life, that other world, and for a second I hated her for it. "Al, you okay?"

I slowly broke away from the embrace, not wanting to, but knowing Beth would never understand. "I'm fine," I said, letting my hands linger on Samantha's shoulder like an anchor. "I think you're right, I'm just having a mid-life crisis." _Hell,_ I wondered as I wiped my eyes, _how else could I explain having two sets of memories (all right, more than two) about my life?_ Especially to the woman who thought she was my soul mate, my one true love.

"Oh, I'm sorry I forced you to go to counseling," she said, latching onto that as a possible excuse for my outburst.

"Na, that's fine," I said, finally prying my hand off of the shoulder of Sam ( _Samantha_ , I reprimanded myself) and I finished wiping my eyes. What was I doin', gettin' all mushy like that over a stupid song? "The song just hit a nerve," I said as way of explanation (whether to Beth and Sam or to myself I wasn't quite sure). "Just . . . just got me thinkin' about 'Nam," I came up with, "and the men who had tried to bring us home. I guess I realized how it felt to try and bring us home and failing." _Bring him home_ , I thought, a vision of a man lost in time, of knowing what it was like to be on both sides of an endless search. 

"Oh, Dad," Samantha sighed, reattaching her hand to my shoulder. "I'm sorry I had you listen to it. I didn't think about the double meaning." _More like triple meaning_ , I thought, but blanked as to why.

"That's okay," I repeated, meaning it. "It all just came to a head. I'll be fine." Once again, I slowly, regretfully, shook my head, releasing that other memory back into the netherworld from where it came.

A quick look into her eyes, and I could tell she suspected I was hiding somethin' back. Too bad I didn't quite remember what it was. 

I smiled at her and decided to deflect the conversation away from my unaccountable outburst. "So, kid, did you get your homework done?"

 _Sam could always keep up with me_ , I realized. She didn't even pause, saying, "Of course I did!"

"That's good," I said with a strained laugh as I stood and walked over to the computer. "Because I'm done as well!"

"That's great," she said. I had an uncontrollable desire to have her call me 'Al', but quickly squelched it – not quite sure how Beth would react to that.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just when Al feels settled into this life, Project Quantum Leap pops up in an unexpected way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay: as I mentioned on my [Tumblr](http://kylaraingress.tumblr.com/), my portable hard drive (which is where I have the file stored) became unreadable on my Mac, and I’ve been spending the last few days getting that fixed. 
> 
> As for the story, it was at this point my muse walked away and I struggled to figure out what I was doing with this story. It ended up working out, but I do feel this is one of my clunkier chapters as a result.

I groaned as I sunk into my office chair. Mondays. I hated Mondays. And a morning to boot.

I, as always, tried to arrive earlier than everyone else, using that time to myself to drop the 'Al Calavicci' persona and replace it with 'Captain Calavicci'.

Sunday night dinner had been fun. Donna and Tina had eased up on the bickering, letting the rest of us know it was only because of the family dinner. Tina's husband, Richard, was there – and I had gotten the odd sense that this was the first time I'd ever met him. I reflected on that for a minute, realizing I had gotten that same hinky sensation as I walked into the office this morning, like I shouldn't know these people that I worked with on a daily basis, like this was the first time I had ever seen them.

I thought back again to last night's dinner. It had been calming, sittin' there at the head of the table and havin' an old-fashioned family dinner. It grounded me more into this life, easing that ache just a bit, and I briefly wondered why I needed grounding. Beth had kept giving me looks, as if a peaceful family dinner was an unusual thing in our household. 

Even though my report wasn't due until the afternoon, I planned on spending a good chunk of the morning re-reading it to make sure I was comfortable with all aspects of it. I needed an audience, though. _Well, I could always back down on my antipathy toward my secretary and use him,_ I thought. _That was, after all, part of his job._

As if thinking about him was a magical charm, the door to my outer office opened and I heard my secretary enter the sanctuary of his area. My office door was still closed, but I could hear him rustling around, setting himself up for the day ahead as well. _What was his name again?_ Ensign Kevin Rogers, I remembered, although I hadn't gotten past to calling him anything but ensign. I set my coffee back down, stood, and started to walk around my desk to let him in, and was thrown when he opened the door to my office instead. 

I caught myself staring into hazel green eyes that were wide with shock, obviously not thinking I had shown up yet. I felt the room sway beneath my feet like I had been on a boat for days, and I caught myself reaching back and using the desk as leverage. _Hazel eyes_ , I recalled, hastily looking over his hair to see if he had a streak of white in his red . . . . _Wait a minute_ , I thought, relieved to see he had bright red hair and freckles rather than the brown with white I halfway expected to see. And he looked young enough to be one of my kids. 

"Sir, I didn't realize you were here yet," the ensign said as he caught my arm to steady me. By some unspoken agreement, he didn't ask if I was okay. 

"Ah," I faltered, getting a grip, "you know me, just gettin' a head start on the day." I gave a laugh, slightly winced as it sounded hollow even to me, and finished, "Figured I could just jump in like it was cold water; the sooner I got here, the sooner Monday would be over." 

He gave me a look as if not used to humor from me, and I realized he probably wasn't. I had yet to get too comfortable around him. But the weekend had been kind of liberating for some reason, and knowing he didn't look anything like Beth's angel gave me the courage to try and be friends with him. "If you've got time this morning, Ensign, I would like to read over the report I'm presenting the committee – to see if you can catch something I may not have." 

"Yes, sir," he said, continuing in his progression of gathering several items from my office, supplies mostly, although I saw him pick up the items in my inbox to file for me. "Whenever you want me," he said, then rephrased, "uh, that is, you let me know when you want to get started." He blushed again and I realized he was as uncomfortable about his homosexuality in this situation as I was ( _that is, used to be_ , I corrected). 

"Whenever you get a moment," I said, choosing to ignore his rephrase as a gesture of good will. Hell, he didn't ask why I nearly swooned ( _swooned?_ ) at his entrance into my office; I owed the kid that much. 

"Yes, sir," he said. "Let me go put these down and I'll be right in." 

He exited, giving me a smile of relief, and returned just as I was sitting back down at my desk. "Already ready?" I couldn't help the note of surprise in my voice. 

"Uh, yes sir," he hedged. He sat down across from me, and the morning's work began. 

As the morning progressed, I started to understand certain things about Ensign Rogers – things that made me realize that whatever his place was in my life, he was not making me wonder about homosexual tendencies. He was nervous, extremely shy, and naive. He wasn't irritating, per se, but there were times when I had to refrain from snapping at his lack of knowledge on things I considered rudimentary. But the job got accomplished, and he did ask a few questions that made me re-think how my report was organized. 

I stood up as we ended it, giving him my hand to shake as a way of saying thanks. As he clasped my hand, his whole body jerked as if electricity had passed through it. His grip on my hand tightened, and his eyes got huge with disbelief. I was about to ask if he was okay when he whispered my name: "Al?" 

I didn't even have a chance to answer or reprimand him before I found him hugging me like his life depended on it, crying out, "Al! Oh, my God, Al! I can't believe it. I finally found you!" 

I quickly brought up my arms to break the hug and stepped back, shocked that he had taken such liberties. How dare he! Just because _he_ was gay gave him no right to . . . . I was so angry, I barely registered the image of brown hair, touched by a white streak, that flashed over the ensign's carrot-red hair. Then, just as quickly as it came, it was gone – leaving me with just my insubordinate secretary. 

I snapped at him, hiding my embarrassment and confusion and slight arousal, "Just what the hell do you think you're doing? What do you mean, 'I finally found you'?" 

The kid seemed just as shocked by my reaction. Well, what the hell did he expect, that I'd hug him back? He tried to answer, "But . . . but, Al . . . ."

"Stop calling me that!" I demanded in my best authoritative voice, wanting to place some distance from that flare of desire I felt. "Did I ever give you permission to use my first name, Ensign Rogers?"

The use of his name and rank caused him to fall silent. He glanced down at his uniform, then back at me. "Oh, boy," he mumbled. 

"Well, Ensign?" I demanded. "I'm waiting." 

I watched as he looked around the room, as if seeing everything for the first time, and finally ended up looking back at me. I was just about to ask if he was on drugs or somethin', when I noticed him awkwardly strike an exaggerated military stance – straight as a board, hands behind his back, heck, he even clicked his heels – and answered, "I'm sorry, Admiral." 

"Admiral?" I gave a laugh. "While I like the way you think, kid, I don't remember being promoted in the last five minutes. Do you?" I finished, gesturing to my arm patch.

"Captain's bars?" he half-whispered to himself, sounding lost. "But . . . but that wasn't supposed to happen," he stammered. "You should be an admiral."

I chuckled. "Ensign, if I had one-tenth the ambition you have for me, I'd be on the Joint Chiefs of Staff. But even though I'm only a lowly captain," I continued, letting him hear the sarcasm, "that's no excuse for what you just did." 

"I know, sir," he said, looking away. "I'm sorry, sir. I guess I was just overwhelmed for a moment."

I remembered the way he had reacted to my handshake. Maybe he had some kind of seizure, I thought, and had gripped me to keep his balance. But how would that explain what he had said? Or did he mean he was overwhelmed in another way? I had to nip this in the bud, before he got himself in any more trouble. "Look, Ensign, I understand." I suppressed a grin, _thought you'd never say_ this _to a Navy man_ , saying, "And I'm flattered, I suppose, but you've got the wrong guy."

"Sir?" he asked, puzzled. 

"First off, I'm your superior officer. Second," I said, counting off the reasons on my fingers, "I'm old enough to be your father. Third, I am a happily married man . . . ." 

He perked up immensely. "You're married? Still?"

"Thirty-nine years in June," I said. 

His smile got even wider. "That's great! How is Mrs. Calavicci?" He paused, then added, "It is Beth, isn't it?"

Had I told him her name? And what happened to that reprimand I had started? "Beth's fine. 'Course she's got her hands full with the girls with it bein' near finals." 

"Girls? You have daughters?" His smile got even wider, if that was possible. "How many?" 

"Four. Haven't I told you this all before?" 

"I'm sorry, sir," he said. "Must've forgotten." 

"Look, Ensign, speaking of forgetting – let's just forget this happened, okay? I mean, you seem like a good kid and a hard worker. I know you can't help bein' the way you are, and I am tryin' to deal with it, but you will have to get a grip on your emotions." 

"Yes, sir. Thank you," he replied, the smile still on his face. "I appreciate it, sir." 

"Well, you caught me in a charitable mood. Now, get back to work." 

"Yes, sir." He saluted me – I could've sworn there were more gold flecks in those hazel eyes than before – and headed back to his desk. And for the first time, as long as I could remember, that ache was no longer there. 

I heard him sit down and pick up his phone. I admit, I was curious as to who he would call after such an awkward incident. So, I eavesdropped. 

"Hey, Ed." 

"Sorry. Edward. What do you have?"

"I know that, I just hugged him for crying out loud." 

"What do you mean, why? It's Al!" I admit, my curiosity was only becoming more peaked.

"I know you don't think I know him. Just believe me when I say I do."

"Call it a result of my life. So, why am I here?" _Why was he here?_ I wondered if he was debating being in the Navy as a gay – after all, despite the new policy, it was still a hard choice.

"What?" The shock in that voice nearly hit me in a physical sense. Whatever the other person said, it hadn't been pretty.

"What does Zi . . . I mean Alpha say to this?" _Who the hell was Alpha? And why did I suspect he almost said Ziggy instead?_

"You're kidding me. He'd never do that."

"Because I know him. He used to be my best friend, for goodness sake. He believed in the project almost as much as I did." _Project?_ He must've started talking about someone else, I decided.

"It's not memory problems!" he nearly shouted. "Look, I know you insist he was never involved in the project. I guess that's why he can't see me," he said with heartbreaking sigh. "Just take my word for it, okay, Edward? He used to have your job." I was, if anything, more completely lost, but I still held onto every word like it was the last drops of water held to a man dying of thirst.

"Fine. So Alpha says he'll want to investigate the project, and eventually want to shut it down. How can I convince him of anything if he doesn't remember anything? Doesn't remember me?" The heartbreak in his voice was now almost palpable.

"I know, how can he remember me if he's never been involved. Tell Alpha to look up temporal paradoxes next time it's looking for some interesting reading." _Temporal paradoxes?_ "Let's just say he may be a hard one to convince. He's a stubborn little . . ." and he trailed off, catching himself before he swore. "Should I go there by myself?" Hope, and despite not bein' able to see his face, I could hear the nostalgic smile that must've graced his face.

"I thought not. I guess I can try something on him. Can Alpha give me the odds?"

"That good, huh? Well, I guess that bartender was right when he said this would get harder." _Bartender Did I need to worry about one of my subordinates drinking on duty?_

"Yeah, I know you don't have any data on that one. Maybe because you didn't exist at the time." _This was gettin' weirder and weirder – somethin' straight out of the Twilight Zone_. "Well, you  existed, just you were probably in England instead." _England?_

"Look, just give me the details of who, when, and where, and I'll get to working on that why, okay?"

"Okay," he said, then, "uh-huh," as if the person he was talking to was giving him a stream of information. "Right. Okay, well, you get back to Alpha and I'll see you later, okay?"

I heard him gently place the receiver back down and give a sigh, whether of relief or exasperation, I wasn't sure. I had no idea why I eavesdropped in the first place, let alone why I had been so drawn by the erratic conversation the ensign had been having. I quickly went back to my desk and started working on my daily paperwork as a cover. But every time I looked down at my paperwork, all I could see was flashes of colors – brown and hazel and gold – and the ache inside me returned, but in a different tone. I thought back home to Samantha and "Bring Him Home", and how I had felt my soul being torn apart. And I wondered if I would ever get back to feeling normal again, like I belonged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I do understand now that this was not how DADT worked/works. Just go with it for the point of the story. ;-)
> 
> And IIRC, it was my beta JD Rush who suggested I throw Sam in there to help resolve where I wanted the story to go.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Al gets to know 'Kevin' a bit more.

The rest of the morning passed uneventfully; I finished making the corrections brought about from my morning conversation with the ensign, and I was ready to present it after lunch. As I was gathering my stuff together to leave, I heard a slight knock on my door.

"Enter," I said. 

"Uh, sir?" I looked up, and gave an unconscious shiver as I was faced yet again with the hazel eyes of the ensign.

"Yes?" I asked. I started to put on my flight jacket, and could feel him staring at me as I did so. "What did you want, Ensign?" I asked, trying my hardest to not feel the flash of want I could feel in the room as his eyes lingered over me.

"I was wondering if . . ." he trailed off, dropping his head in embarrassment. 

"Yes?"

"Well, I feel like I owe you for what happened earlier," he said, his cheeks flushing at the memory. "I mean, I want to thank you somehow for not reporting me and giving me a second chance."

"No need," I said, brushing off the incident. "Just make sure it doesn't happen again."

"You don't have to worry about that, sir. But still, uh, can I maybe buy you lunch?"

I looked at him, startled. "Excuse me?"

"I just thought, well," he trailed off, then added quickly, "that is, if we're going to be working together, I just thought it might be nice to, you know, be on less-hostile terms."

"I don't think that's such a good idea," I said, trying to not make it sound as bad as it did. "If people saw us together, they might get the wrong idea," I added, trying to explain.

"I don't understand, sir."

_Jeez, was I gonna have to spill it out for him?_ "You know," I hesitated, "you bein' my secretary and gay and all . . . ."

"I'm gay?" he repeated as if he was still in the closet.

"Well, that's what I was told when you were assigned to me," I said, trying my darndest to figure out what was going on. "Was I given the wrong information?"

"I guess not, sir," he said. I could feel the disappointment in his voice, and I wondered again at his true intentions. "I understand now . . . . I understand everything clearly. I'm sorry, sir." And he headed back to his desk.

Damn him for makin' me feel guilty! He seemed like such a good kid – hardworking, polite, intelligent. Hell, if he were straight, I'd probably allow him to date Donna. I was still unsure where I stood on this whole gays in the military issue, but he did have a point. If we had to work together, it'd be easier on us both if we weren't adversaries. "Hey, Ensign," I called out to him.

He was immediately standing in my doorframe. "Yes, sir?"

I picked up the phone and started dialing a number I knew by heart. "What d'ya like on your pizza?"

"Sir?" he asked, the cutest puzzled look on his face.

"We don't have to go out for lunch, right?" I told him, then spoke into the receiver. "Yeah, Vinny? It's me, Calavicci. Hang on . . . ." I put my hand over the mouthpiece and directed my comment to the ensign, "So, what d'ya want? I've got 'em on the phone."

He gave me a huge smile that would put Romeo to shame. "Anything you want is fine with me, sir!"

I ordered a large with pepperoni, sausage, and extra cheese. As he was ringing up the total, I rummaged around in my desk drawer and dug out some quarters. I hung up and handed 'em to the kid. "Here, Kevin, why don't you get us a coupla Cokes?"

His beaming smile lit up the room. "Yes, sir!"

~*~*~*~*~

The pizza arrived, and I handed over the money Kevin had insisted on giving me. We had decided to eat in my office, and part of me wondered as to my true intentions. Was I really worried about others seein' us, or did I want privacy for us?

I gave a small chuckle, and turned back to my office. Kevin was sittin' at my desk, looking at the photo I kept there – a Christmas shot from a few years back, all of us in red and holding hands; the same one I kept in my wallet – and his eyes never looked so distant.

"Your family, I assume?" he asked, a nervous smile on his lips.

"Yeah. Tina'd die to look like that again," I said, seeing how thin she looked.

"Tina?" I got an odd sense of déjà vu at his startled reaction, but shook it off.

"Yeah, my oldest," I said pointing her out. "She's not taking to being pregnant very well."

"She's pregnant?"

I could've sworn I had told him this before. "Yeah – due any day now."

"I'd never thought to see the day you became a grandfather," he said with a laugh. I joined in, imagining what he must think of me and my home life.

"Yeah, I'm still adjusting to it," remembering yet again how temporary everything was feeling. I took a bite of pizza, and hesitantly asked, "Um, what about you?"

"Me, sir?"

"It's Al, okay?" I said, giving him a look of extreme patience. "When we're on our own time, I . . . I guess you can call me Al."

"So, I've now got permission to use your first name, sir?" he said with a smirk.

"You better watch it, Ensign. You got a smart mouth on ya." I tried scolding, but I couldn't help smiling myself. Maybe this wouldn't be such a chore after all. The kid had a great personality, once you got to know him. I couldn't help but wonder where this personality was when I was going over my report earlier.

"Sorry. And thanks . . . Al." He had given a small sigh as he said my name and a chill ran down my spine. _A little familiarity might be a dangerous thing._

"No problem, Kevin. May I call you Kevin?" I asked belatedly. Just because I was the superior officer didn't mean I should be rude.

"I'd like that, sir . . . ahhh, Al."

I tried to steer the conversation back to where we started, wondering why I was so determined to find out about his romantic life. "So, do you have someone special?" At his blank stare, I elaborated. "You know, a significant other?" He continued to gaze at me without comprehension. I was starting to wonder if he was dim or if he enjoyed me spitting out these comments about him. So, I called his bluff again. "Do you have a boyfriend?"

He started to laugh. "Betcha you never thought you'd be saying that to one of your sailors."

"Well, the world's changin'," I admitted, reluctantly. "And if we're gonna be friends . . . ."

"Friends?" he asked, surprised.

"Well, anti-enemies, at least. Maybe I should know more about you, huh?"

"Yeah," he said, sending me a shy grin. Just as he was about to answer, though, he gave a slight jump at a non-existent sound. "Do I have a boyfriend?" he repeated, and I had a feeling he was unsure of the answer.

"That was the question," I stated, wondering what he was up to. 

"Uh," he hedged, "I . . . that is . . . ."

"Look, Kev," I said, "if you're uncomfortable talking about it with me, I understand."

"No," he quickly said, then gave a slight glance toward the filing cabinet at the edge of my office. "It's just . . . I'm not sure how to define 'boyfriend'. I mean, in terms of seriousness." He gave a pause, then breathed a sigh of relief as he said, "No, no I don't."

"Not met the right guy yet?" I teased, remembering saying that same phrase to my daughters on occasion. It felt odd saying it to a guy, but at the same time, it felt right asking Kevin. 

"Uh, well," he stammered, flushing, "you see, it's a long story." He took a breath, then continued, "And a little personal." He seemed on the verge of saying something else, then stood, saying, "Will you excuse me? I've got to use the restroom."

I nodded my head, unsure why I had a sudden compulsion to follow him out, my hands patting down my pockets looking for something. I figured out I didn't find it before I realized I didn't even know what I was looking for. Kevin gave me an odd look as he caught my search, but refrained from saying anything as he walked out the office to the can. And I briefly felt an emptiness of spirit at his exit out.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Al goes home and talks about his day with his family.

"The committee was pleased enough with the report to want me to continue working on the others." It was dinnertime, Beth, Samantha, Donna, and I were sittin' around eating a batch of my famous linguini (what can I say? I had a good day), and we were each going over our days. 

"That's great, Dad," Samantha said, obviously pleased that the report I had been sweating was, in fact, no sweat at all.

"Yeah," I replied. "It helped to read it over to Kevin and get his perspective."

"Kevin?" Beth asked.

"Yeah?" I asked, confused. "Ensign Rogers," I explained, realizing they didn't know my secretary's first name.

"You're on a first name basis with him?" Samantha asked, clearly surprised.

"Well, he and I had lunch together," I started, then faltered as I saw the whole family turn toward me in shock. "What?" I asked. "He suggested, rightly, I might add, that if we're going to be working together, we ought to try and at least get along. I thought it over and decided he was right." I laughed, and without thinking of how my family would take this news, I added, "Besides, he figured he owed it after hugging me."

"What?" Samantha asked, more in humor and less in shock. "Okay, who are you and what have you done with my father?" she said with a smile of mischief. "Are you telling me you let another man hug you, a gay man to boot, and you didn't deck 'im?"

"I was more startled than anything, Samantha," I said as way of explanation. "But I think it was more of a reaction than anything else." At her confused look, I explained, "He had some sort of shock or something, and I helped him steady. He was a little grateful." I turned to Beth, continuing, "But I set him straight before that gratitude turned into something else. I let him know I was a happily married man." I smiled teasingly, saying, "In a way, I kinda found it flattering. Nice to know the Calavicci charm works on men, too!"

"Albert!"

I tried joking with her again. "What can I say? I'm irresistible."

"You're something, all right," Beth countered, trying to make it sound like she was teasing. But that ache I had felt earlier returned at her words, making me realize – yet again – that she was not going to solve it. "So tell me about this next project you'll be spending all your spare time on."

"Well," I said, "it seems there's this group of scientists who've been working for the past ten years or so on the concept of time travel."

"Time travel?" I couldn't help but grin at the way my daughter's ears perked up at that one, kind of like a dog hearing a can opener starting. "Sounds interesting. You know that's what John's uncle was researching when he disappeared."

John's uncle. Sam Beckett. I had a sinking sensation that I knew who was the brains behind the project I was gettin' ready to investigate. I hadn't been able to look much into the folder of data I had; Kevin had grabbed it with the other files this morning. Something inside me, though, knew without a doubt that the project director would be the man who disappeared seven years ago.

"Yeah?" I asked, cautious to not let her know where my thoughts were going. "Well, they're askin' for another year of funding, and it's my job to see how and where they've been spending the money they've had so far." I paused, wondering if I should call Kevin after dinner to see if he had looked over the material at all. I shook my head, barely registering the craving for what it was, and decided to deflect the conversation. "But enough about my day. What happened to you, Samantha?"

"Oh, same old same old," she said, giving me a look of understanding. She knew I was uncomfortable with this for some reason, and as always was there to save my ass. And as I finished my meal, I had a vague recollection of bein' on the other side of the funding request.

The rest of the meal went uneventfully, the topic of conversation safely steered away from my new work project by both me and Samantha. Beth, knowing when she was bein' double-teamed, quietly gave up her perusal into the reasons behind why I had suddenly become so friendly with my secretary. And I became strangely gratified when she got paged to the hospital right after and Samantha and Donna decided to go to their rooms to study, leaving me with the evening by myself.

I sat down at my computer, my hand over the phone, ready to call Kevin, when I got hit with a case of nerves. _I swear, I was less nervous when I proposed to Beth_ , I caught myself thinking, and stomped on the flash of need that thought gave me. I didn't want to sit there and wonder why I felt this compulsion to talk to my ensign, to get to know him better, to . . . . _Jesus, he's half my age!_ I inwardly shouted. And I briefly wondered why  that was my first argument against the stirrings in my groin. _If only he didn't look like that pimply-faced teenager on The Simpsons_, I thought. _What am I sayin'?_ Where was that homophobic attitude I had wrapped myself so securely in all of my life? And why was it just today I started wondering about it? _Hazel eyes and brown hair with a streak of white_ , my desire gave as an answer. I slowly picked up the phone, placing it against my ear like it was infected, and slowly dialed the number I had written down that afternoon without conscious thought – Kevin's home number.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Al flashes back to when he and Sam were lovers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notice the change in rating. Here be ye other sex scene - sort of. Smexy times away, and the scene that made me decide this should be explicit, not mature!

"Heya, Sam."

"Al! God, I miss you. When are you coming home?"

It was a tough time during Project Quantum Leap, the funding for it yet again coming under scrutiny from nozzles in Washington, and I had taken it upon myself to show them once and for all that Sam's theories were realistic visions. Little did I know that a week later, Sam would take it upon himself to show them once and for all as well – in the drastic measure of jumping into the accelerator. 

I was in my hotel room, the third day of dealing with committee members barely over. But I had called it quits, not wanting to get too strained under the situation and say things I would regret. Sittin' there, listening to Weitzman's shit for far too long, I started lettin' my mind wander. Bad thing to do when it's been nearly a month since Sam and I . . . .

Needless to say, I was glad I was sittin' at a conference table, 'cause I'm sure even I would have had a hard time (pun intended) explaining the bulge in my pants while listenin' to committee members explain budgetary issues. Especially when Weitzman's secretary had been comin' onto me like a whore in heat, and I, ladies-man extraordinaire, had turned her down. Usually I go ahead when someone who can matter to the funding hits on me, and while Sam doesn't like it, he understands it's a part of my personality. I was missin' him so much, though, I was afraid I'd say the wrong name. And trying to explain to Weitzman (not to mention his secretary) that their main naval contact for PQL was havin' homosexual relations with the head of that same project was not exactly on the top of my 'to do' list. Thank God there was water available, cold water. So as I dragged my mind away from the latest fantasy of what I wanted to do with Sam (this time, it dealt with teachin' him a lesson about his latest obsession with chocolate), I took a good long drink of water, tryin' to think of anything to make my now-raging hard-on go away. And Weitzman gave me the perfect image when he said the unknowing double-entendre, "If you think you're going to screw me over on the money, Calavicci, I'll nail you to the wall."

I had choked on my water, then said, "And if you think I'd ever screw you over on money, you're crazier than I thought." That was when I knew I had to quit for the day, before I said anything else. So, I ended it abruptly, standing up and saying, "Ladies, gentlemen, it's getting late. Why don't we continue this conversation tomorrow after we've all had a good night's sleep?" And before anyone had a chance to gainsay it, I curtly nodded and had walked out straight to my room. 

Which is where I was now. I had barely gotten in when I knew I had to call Sam. The visuals had been that detailed. And he asks me when I'm coming home?

"Don't know, kid. They're givin' me the usual run-around, but I can handle it. Don't concern yourself with it," I said, knowing he had been gettin' worried about the issue of funding lately. "I promised you I'd get you your funding, and Calavicci never goes back on a promise, right?"

"Right," he said, and I could hear the deliberation in his mind. Sometimes I regretted bein' able to read him so easily, it made it that much harder to try and help. 

"Kid, I know you think I may not have any control over this particular promise, but I'll get you that funding if I have to prostitute myself all across Washington."

That got the laugh I was going for, and I let my breath out in a sigh of relief. _He really is worried_ , I suddenly realized. "Sam," I said, using his name on purpose to get his attention, "just you give me a chance, and I'll show them that you're not tiltin' at windmills."

"Oh, Al, what did I ever do to get you in my corner?" He joined my silent sigh; I hated when he got like this, especially when I wasn't around to comfort him. I decided the only way out of his depression was to distract him – the same way I had gotten distracted. 

"What're you wearin'?" I said, knowing he would hear the change of subject and quickly figure out where I was going with this.

"Oh, Al, not now. Not today."

"I called you for a reason."

"I bet you did," came his chuckled reply. "But I'm just not in the mood."

 _Not in the mood?_ "Well, I am, lover," I said instead, letting my voice drop to that scratchy, sultry level I knew drove him nuts. "All I could think about was you, Sammy," I finished, using my pet name for him. Usually, he hated that name – but he loved it when I said it. "And what I'm gonna do with you, to you, when I get home."

"I bet that made the budget meetings more interesting," he said deadpan.

I decided to pull out the big guns, so to speak. "You're not kiddin'," I started, sitting down on the bed. If this went the way I was hopin', I wouldn't be coherent for too much longer. "I sat there, lettin' my mind wander, imagining running my hands over your broad chest, my lips claiming yours in one of those sweet kisses you save only for me, my cock achin' like it only can for you, babe."

"Al!" And despite the distance, I could see the blush that rose to his cheeks at my use of phraseology. While he normally had no problems with me talking dirty, for some reason his prudent background came on full strong whenever I used the 'c' word – or any of the other vernaculars for my favorite organ. If I ever actually got him to talk dirty back to him – a rare and beautiful event, like Haley's Comet – he usually avoided using any terms. It was odd, when it came to the act itself, Sam could be a wild man. It was just talking about it where his prudery came through. But, I was working on him – in more ways than one.

"I imagined you in the living room, sitting on that soft, ankle deep carpet, wearin' nothin' but a smile. I laid you back, trailing my hand down from your chest to that fabulous abdomen, gleaning past your thighs, runnin' my hand down the inside of your shin to end at your feet." I stopped briefly to see if I had finally gotten him distracted, removing my tie while I waited, my own breath becoming ragged. The pant in my ear was my response. 

"I then grabbed the bottle of Hershey's chocolate that's sittin' on the coffee table," I continued, deciding to utilize the fantasy that almost got me in trouble in the budgetary meetings, "and with my mouth, I pop the top, running my tongue oh-so-carefully around the top, showing you the talent that has made you come again and again." 

This time, I heard a groan in my ear. I smiled, knowing I would get no further objections about not being in the mood.

"C'mon, Sammy," I said teasingly, "let the little physicist out of the confines of those tight jeans you like to wear so often," I said, unzipping my pants at the same time. 

"Done," he said, breathless. "What . . ." he trailed off, hesitant. His shyness just turned me on further, for some reason; and like I always did when we had to resort to phone sex, I tried pulling a little bit more on the chain of prudery he wore.

"What d'ya want to know, Sammy?" I said, knowing the answer, but also knowing just as well that he needed to say it.

"What do you do with the chocolate, Al?" he asked.

"Ah, well," I said, trying to hide the smile in my voice. It usually took him longer to cross the barrier into dirty talk, and I took it as a good sign that he was so . . . well, eager. "After making sure the top is free of chocolate, I bring it over to your sexy body and dribble just a bit onto your chest – just enough to where you feel the cool, silky sensation of liquid chocolate sliding over you." I heard a deep intake of breath at that, and I chuckled, knowing he liked to call my eyes liquid chocolate. "I think you ought to open your shirt, Sammy," I said, bringing the two images of him together. "It must be getting awfully hot in that room."

"Little do you know," he said – coyly! "I was already shirtless," he added, and this time it was my turn to gasp at the visual of him sitting in his office – shirtless, jeans open, hands . . . . 

"Where are your hands?" I asked, bringing my own down to touch my inner thigh – not quite ready to start my side of this encounter. 

"Well, in the fantasy, they're just at my side," he said, giving a slight chuckle of his own at my groan of regret. "But for real, they're at my chest, playing with . . ." and he trailed off again, as his prudery reemerged. 

"Playing with what?" I said, hopeful that his response would be just as quick as last time. I moved my own hand, running it up and down my chest, imagining it was him. I readjusted my body on the bed, clamping the phone to my ear like it was an oxygen tank.

"My nipples," he said, barely a whisper. _Oh, God!_ I thought, more turned on by the whisper than had he said it bold and daring.

"Are you imagining it's my hands there, Sam?" I said, my eyes closing as my own desire started to really become distracting. 

"Yes," he said, another whisper. "I'm imagining your hands . . . and the chocolate sauce," he added, giving me another chance to gasp in surprise.

"Yeah," I said, letting him hear my want for him, "I'm coatin' your chest in the chocolate sauce, rubbin' your nipples, makin' your chest hair sticky like it is after we take a tumble in the sheets. Can you see it, Sam, can you feel it?" 

Panting, heaving, incoherence. Finally, a strangled, "Yes, Al. God, yes. What are you going to do now?"

"Well, there's only one way to clean up such a mess, you know," I said, moving my hands over my body as I imagined the rest of the scenario in my mind.

"There is?" The five-year old voice, the one he used when he was tryin' to act sweet and innocent and usually the one he used when he was tryin' to get somethin' out of me. I sighed, wondering if I should feel like a pedophile by enjoying that young voice.

"Yeah," I continued, deciding it was the man I was attracted to, and the boy I heard in that voice grew up to be the man I loved with all of my heart and soul, "by licking you clean."

"Oh, God, Al," was the answer from my miles-away lover, and I had a vision of where his hands may have moved to now.

"Do you like that, Sammy?" I asked, moving my own hand to my more-than-eager cock. I barely touched it, knowing that Sam would need to come first, and sometimes that took awhile. So, I just barely caressed it, more for the feeling than for actual stimulation, and I continued, "Where are your hands now?"

"In the fantasy, they've reached up and started to massage your back," he said, barely audible. "In real life, one is gripping the phone like it's my only link to life, and the other . . . ."

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"The other has moved down."

"Down where?" I loved dragging it out of him. "Come on, Sam."

"That's what I'm trying to do," he said, surprising me yet again. I had a vision of what Ziggy must be thinkin' about what we were doin' and it took every last bit of control I had not to burst out laughing then and there. He must've heard the small snicker, though, for he asked, "What?" 

"Just impressed," I said, deciding to leave it at that. "My lips lovingly lavish your chest," I said, pulling out each 'l' into a caress, "lightly licking up each drop of chocolate that's there. I spend an extra second on each nipple," I continued, licking my own lips at my body's response to my mind's image, "first your left," I said, hearing Sam's breathing quicken even more, "then your right."

"How can you do this to me, Al?" I didn't want to tell him how much I wanted to be doing that to him. "God, just with your voice . . ." he trailed off.

"What can I say?" I joked. "I'm irresistible."

"You better believe it," he joked back. "Don't stop now, Al. I'm almost there."

"Already?" I gasped, working my hand on my cock as an automatic response to his admittance.

"What can I say?" he joked. "You're irresistible."

 _Oh, two can play this game_ , I thought. "You better believe it," I growled. "But you can't get off that easily," I said, letting him hear the double entendre intended. "I gotta finish the fantasy first, babe. Or at least . . . finish the chocolate." 

I heard him rake in a breath at that, and he said, "Oh?" all shy and quiet, sweet and innocent, a sound that went completely against the two visions of him – the one on the carpet, covered in chocolate, and the other of him in the office, slowly getting himself off just on my voice. It was hard to decide which was the more erotic.

"Yeah," I said, grasping the base of my cock, imagining his mouth covering it, and I gave my own shattered groan of desire as a response. "After I've licked your chest good and clean," I start in again, stroking my balls and almost unconsciously thrusting my hips against the bed, "I continue nibbling down your abdomen. I smiled as I heard another gasp through the phone, and continued, "I barely tickle you with my tongue over your stomach," and I heard the moan this time, the moan that meant he was really workin' it good, "and I blow on just the tip of your cock – letting you feel my chocolate-scented breath against it," and the moan grew louder, "and I brush a light kiss against it, promising more to come," I continued, using the own image in my own workings on my cock. 

"Then what?" I heard the breathless question.

"Then, I take a small handful of chocolate onto my hand and start rubbing your thighs with it, getting you ready for my entrance," I said, visualizing to the best of my ability.

I heard his breath come up short, and he suddenly said, "Can chocolate be an effective lubricant?" 

 _Damn him and his scientific mind!_ "Sam, it's just a fantasy," I quickly said, not wanting to ruin the mood. "Just go with it." 

"Okay," I heard his rattled voice say, then he continued with, "but we have to see if this will actually work when you get home."

 _God, I loved this man!_ "Why d'ya think I called ya?" I gave as my response. "So, where were we?" I asked, more as a means to see if he was still willing to continue the game. 

"You were coating my thighs with the chocolate," he said, and I could see the dreamy smile all the way through the phone lines. 

"All right," I continued, "I coat your thighs, getting you ready for my entrance, and slowly put your legs around my body, holding me in a tight half-embrace, trailing my chocolate-covered hands down your legs to the edge of your abdomen, and I brace." I deliberately paused, moving my hand on my cock, waiting. I always played this game with him, making him ask for what he wanted, letting him come out of that shell just a bit.

"Oh, God, Al!" Sam nearly screamed.

"What, Sam?" I said teasingly. "What d'ya want me to do, Sammy?" I started massaging my cock, waiting for him to deliberate between the two facets of his personality, and yet again I was pleasantly surprised at the quick response of my lover. 

"Do it, Al," he panted. "Enter me. Describe your . . . your . . ." he trailed off, trying to get around calling it by name.

"My what?" I drawled, getting even more turned on and speeding up the rhythm of my hand.

"Oh, just shut up and describe fucking me, Al," he yelled.

While he still had avoided the great 'cock' debate, I was still thrown by his use of the word 'fuck' – another one he tended to avoid. And his sense of urgency made me realize my own, and so all I could do was comply. But I couldn't resort a small rejoinder, "My, my, Samuel – what language. I may have to punish you for that some time."

"Oh, promises, promises," he sighed, and I suddenly didn't have quite as long to go before my body would override my brain. 

"I enter you, slowly," I said, starting to pump my hand, "and your ass is so tight, Sammy, it feels so sweet around me, it's a new sensation every time." 

"Oh, God!"

"And I start thrusting," I said, starting to pant with my efforts of imitating my fantasy in real life, "and I go harder, and harder, and harder."

"Yes!" I heard him cry in delicious agony, and I could feel him, somehow, through the phone and knew I had completed my mission for him.

Now, it was time to finish myself, and so I ended the fantasy by describing what I was really doing. "I go faster, and faster, Sam, hearing you breathless with want and desire, and I . . . I . . . I thrust . . ." I trailed off, trying to keep some semblance of control in my voice, "one . . . more . . . time . . . . Oh, Jesus!" I finally shouted, finally releasing, and sighed in reaction.

"Oh my God . . . ."

~*~*~*~*~

". . . Sam!" I felt the shudder ripple through my body as it released its desire.

"What?" a shocked voice asked. I came to (and came, too), panting with the sudden realization that I was not where my mind thought I was. "Hello?" I heard again, and I gave a slight gasp as I recognized the voice as Kevin's.

I quickly hung up, not sure what to make of the fact that I was sittin' in the living room of my house, two of my four daughters only a room away, 'happily' married, and shootin' off while calling my gay ensign on the phone.

I grabbed a batch of tissues off my desk and started to clean myself up when the phone rang, harsh and loud – startling me out of my internal reverie. I just stared at it, somehow knowing it was Kevin, knowing it had been me on the phone. _How in the hell do I explain this?_

By the third ring, I slowly picked it up. I didn't want to, but I also had no desire to try and explain my situation if my daughters decided to come out and answer it.

"Hello?" I said, anxious, worried, and partially wanting it to be him. 

"Al?" It was him all right, and I could tell by the sound in his voice that he was both confused and shocked by the earlier call. 

"Yes, Ensign Rogers?" I didn't want to use his first name, not now, not with sticky come dripping off my cock and landing on my uniform. "Shit!"

"Is everything all right?"

"Ah," I said, trying to explain without saying anything, and I remembered someone telling me that the best lie was one that stuck closest to the truth. "I . . . uh . . . spilled something that's gonna leave a stain on my uniform."

I could've sworn I heard a slight chuckle on the other end before he said, "Is that why you hung up on me?"

"Hung up?" _Play innocent, Calavicci._

"Yeah. You called me a moment ago."

"How did you know that?" 

"I've got Caller ID," he said. "Must be because of the threats I started getting once I came out."

My heart went out to him, and I asked, "Threats?" 

"You think being gay is easy?" he asked me, bitter. "Especially when you're in the Navy?"

"I guess not," I admitted. After all, I hadn't been that good to him either.

"So is that why you hung up on me?" he asked, bringing the conversation back to where it started. "Because you had . . . uh . . . spilled something on your uniform?" 

"Uh . . . yeah," I faltered, wondering how much of my prior scream he had heard. At least I had said the name 'Sam' instead of 'Kevin', even though I knew it was still a male Sam (and Beth's 'angel' to boot!) I had been thinking of. "Ensign, I mean Kevin, I called you for a reason." 

"I bet you did," he chuckled, and the hairs stood on the back of my neck as a response. _But I'm not in the mood_ , I halfway expected to hear him say next. 

"I was thinkin' about this next project the committee wants me to investigate, the time travel one?" I continued, trying to shake off the reawakening of my groin.

I heard him draw in a sharp breath at that, and shakily reply, "Yeah?"

"I remembered you taking the folder out of my inbox this morning . . . ." 

"I did?" he interrupted.

"And I was wondering if you had taken it home with you to look over," I continued.

"Uh, I don't think so," he faltered, and I had this visual of him desperately pawing through the files, looking for the folder. 

"Look, it's not like I asked you to or anything," I countered, trying to let him know it wasn't urgent. 

"I know, Al," he said automatically, then quickly added, "I mean sir."

"Look," I said, suddenly feeling sorry for the kid, _he obviously needs a friend_ , "what I said at lunch about you callin' me Al, I meant it. Just do the 'sir' thing when we're in front of the other Navy brass, alright?"

"Okay," he said, and breathed, "Al."

"I just figured if you had the folder," I continued, not wanting to bask in the desire I heard in his voice, "we could start going over it first thing tomorrow. You were such a help to me today," I said, knowing I was rambling, "I felt I could pull you in on this project from the beginning. Maybe help you get some respect from the other Navy gents."

"I . . . I would like that, Al," he said softly. "It means a lot that you want to help me out."

"Yeah, well, you seem to be a good kid," I said quietly, "and I kinda feel bad about how I've been treatin' you. I should give you a shot. Just 'cause you're . . ." I trailed off.

"Say it, Al," he said softly. _Do it, Al,_ I heard a different voice say. _Enter me_. And I felt a shudder fill my form as the desire re-emerged into my system.

"Uh . . ." I trailed off, trying to figure out why I was hearing this other male voice while talking to Kevin as well as trying to figure out why it was turning me on so much. "Kevin, I . . . I gotta go," I said quickly. "Why don't we just start lookin' over the stuff first thing tomorrow and we'll just go from there, okay?" 

"But Al . . . ."

I heard the front door open and the muted sound of Beth talking to someone outside. Guiltily, I looked down, stricken at the sight – my pants were still open and my cock was ready for action yet again.

"I'll talk to you tomorrow," I said, and before he had another chance to plead, I slammed the phone down, zipped up, wiped the remaining evidence of my prior release, and ran into the bedroom to take that cold shower I needed very badly now.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two timelines start to become clearer to Al, as well as the situation overall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're reading this on subscription, you might want to re-read the last chapter. After seeing what I had for the next section, it made more sense to tack it on to the end of that chapter than make a chapter in and of itself.

As I awoke the next morning, I found myself in a most intriguing Catch-22. I dreaded going into work, facing Kevin and acknowledging my actions of the prior night. But at the same time, I was looking forward to seeing him again, talking to him again, and working with him again. And if I stayed at home, I would have to face Beth and the question of my odd behavior – after all, I don't stay home when I'm feelin' fine. And I didn't even know where to begin with her: after all, she would know how to handle me being attracted to another woman. Another man, one that didn't even exist in my world, however . . . .

I sighed – half regret and half relief – as I realized Beth was already gone for the day, and decided to bite the bullet and get ready for work. After all, the longer I put it off, the harder it was going to be. And who knows? If I didn't come in, maybe Kevin would come to the house to see if I was okay, and I couldn't very well invite the kid into my house, alone. (Well, I could . . . . _Stop that thought right there, Calavicci._ ) 

The house was strangely quiet as I got up and got ready. Doing all of it by myself gave me a hinky feeling of déjà vu, like I had done this exact thing in some other life. And while the concept of being alone should've depressed me, the depression aspect actually made it feel more real – like it was just something that had to be done. The fact that I was going to see Kevin that morning made the whole feeling like it was routine, usual . . . what was supposed to be. 

I shook off the funk, ate my breakfast, and headed off to work, humming "I Like Him". When I got there, I settled myself down into my work day. I grabbed myself a cup of coffee, checked Kevin's desk and found the folder for Project Quantum Leap, and sat myself down. 

Nothing, nothing at all, could prepare me for what I would find in that folder. My hunch of the other day was right – Dr. Sam Beckett was indeed the head of the project. But, as Samantha had mentioned, he was in absentia for the past seven years and the contact person instead was the co-head, an Edward St. John IV. Reading through the details of PQL increased that hinky sense to the point that I forgot where I was for a moment.

It all became hazy when I turned to the page that had Dr. Beckett's resume.

_"You've got to hire someone, Al." Admiral Bowman, off-site military liaison for Project StarBright, was bound and determined to pass this buck onto me. He handed me a stack of resumes, and I glanced at the one on top._

Sam Beckett _– bet he got hell for that name in English class. "Look at this one – he's just a kid."_

_"Yeah, but look at all he's accomplished. I mean, – the guy may be barely 30, but he's got more degrees than a thermometer!"_

Sam Beckett. Remember that name. _"So he's got brains. That doesn't mean diddly when it comes down to working on this project."_

_"Like you have room to talk, Calavicci," Bowman said. I cringed at the implication. It was too true; I had let myself go downhill ever since Ruthie died. In fact, the drinking had really started five months earlier when she first started showing the signs of the cancer that was eating away at her._

_I looked at the other resumes, but my mind kept turning back to Beckett's._

Sam Beckett. Remember. Remember Sam.

_"You have to choose, Al."_

_"Al?"_

_"Al!"_

"AL!"

I felt myself jump as a hand landed on my shoulder. As my eyes focused on the here and now, I did a double take as I once again saw the face that had been haunting my dreams and memories. 

"What the . . ." I started, and jerked away in confusion. As we lost touch, whatever spell had come over me was gone and I was once again facing the unlucky Ensign Rogers.

"Kid?" I asked carefully, cowering in my chair. "Kevin?"

For some undefined reason, his eyes had lit up at 'kid', but fell again at the use of his name. "You okay?" he asked, keeping his distance. "You were just staring into space there. I tried saying something . . . ."

The kid looked truly worried, and I had to give him my best smile to try and ease the tension. "Sorry about that," I said, starting to raise my hand to pat his shoulder. "I was just lookin' over the files for Project Quantum Leap, and I just . . . ." The words left me again, though, as I looked back down. Paper clipped to the back was a small newspaper article about Dr. Beckett receiving his Nobel for the work on StarBright. (I felt myself start to shake at reading the project name. Where did I know it from?) In the corner was a picture. Standing next to a tall chap (the caption indicated an Edward St. John) was a picture of said doctor. I gulped as I realized it was Beth's angel, and the face of my dreams. 

What in the hell was going on? Was Beth's angel really a man traveling in time? If so, why? Why would this man concern himself with me and my family?

As I turned to ask Kevin about it, I suddenly remembered the times I thought he had looked like "Sam"; the jolt of electricity that started his whole crazy different personality; the odd conversation with Ed/Edward. I thought back over what I had read on Dr. Beckett's theories: how PQL was supposed to work, and the additional reports from St. John as to how the project changed to fit the circumstances. My hand fell back down.

How dare he . . . . What right did this man have meddling in my affairs? And what right did Beckett have, being here and now? Didn't the fact that I was reviewing the funding for his very project violate some of the basic rules he himself had set down? What in the hell was going on? 

I brought my hand back up again, this time as a handshake, and in my driest voice, I said, "Dr. Beckett, I presume?"

"You remember?" he said, his voice catching. 

"Remember what?" I asked, watching his face fall once again. "I just know that at least twice now I've seen Dr. Beckett's face when it should've been Ensign Rogers', and I just put two and two together. Not a very pleasant four I got, either." 

"Oh."

"Yeah, 'oh'," I sneered. "And I wonder if my wife would be able to recognize this picture as the man who had told her I was alive in 'Nam," I added. "All those years, I thought she was hallucinating, when it turns out she was just being manipulated by a time tripping terror instead!" 

His eyes grew wide at my insult, but he stayed silent, which just added fuel on the fire. 

"How dare you interfere in my life and the life of my family," I shouted, glad that my office door was shut. "Who gave you the right?"

"I just wanted to help," he pleaded.

"Who asked you?" 

"You did." The words were soft, near whisper – and it took me a bit to understand what he was saying.

The silence grew as it hit me. I had asked him? For this?

The other visions – of me calling Sam on the phone, of us making out in the back of a prototype car, of me admitting my love for him – they rushed to the forefront with the surefire knowledge that it was no fantasy, and I sighed again as I slumped into my chair. "I asked you?" I had to clarify. But I answered my own question as a partial memory returned. "You were a private investigator . . . ."

"A beat cop," he corrected. 

"And I tried having you keep her away from Kirk . . . ." 

"Dirk."

"But she kept running into him."

"Yeah."

"You told me we couldn't interfere . . . ."

"But I turned around and did it myself in the very next leap," he sighed.

"Was she happy?" I asked. "With Dirk?" 

"I don't know," Kevin ( _guess I should start calling him 'Sam' now_ ) said. "I was still Swiss-cheesed then. I didn't even know Beth was your wife until I saw your picture on her mantle." 

At that moment, I saw him stiffen as if someone had walked into the room. He looked around, and tried not to stare at a specific spot. And I knew. "Edward?" I asked no one in particular.

A quick second of silence, then Sam said, "No, I didn't tell him."

I stood and looked at the spot I assumed Edward was. "Look, Eddie," I said, stressing the nickname intentionally, "your boy didn't say a damn thing – I figured it out all on my own. I saw through the aura a couple of times, and came to my own conclusions."

Another quick pause, and I interrupted what I was sure was a tirade from Sam's invisible friend. "It's happened before, right? Someone's seen through the aura? Kids, the loony, psychics, people with brain patterns similar to Sam's?"

"You remember that?" Sam asked me in disbelief.

"It just makes sense," I corrected, "if the aura effect is caused by some sort of mental chameleon effect, then people whose brains aren't fully developed or are developed more than we realize would be able to see past it." 

"See?" Sam asked the man I could not see. 

"I don't know which I am," I answered what was sure was the next question. "I don't see Sam all the time. Mostly, it's just Kevin. It's only when . . . ." 

"Only when the original set of memories are trying to come forward," Sam continued. "I'm right, aren't I?" he asked. "It's when you've been having these flashbacks!" 

Flashbacks. Was that what they were? But how could I have flashbacks to something that no longer really happened? 

I finally voiced the question that had been plaguing me all morning. "Sam, what in the hell is going on?" 

Sam turned to me, a huge smile on his face at my use of that name, and turned back to Edward. "Look, he needs to know what's been going on." And then I got to actually witness the one-sided conversation.

"Yes, I know you think he's never been on the project, but even so, he knows I've interfered in his life. He has the right to know."

"Well, wouldn't that help his decision, if he knows all the info? He's got the project file right there anyway!"

"I've broken the rules before, I can do it again." 

"Because it was by breaking the rules in the first place that GOT us here!"

"Then go!" He took a breath, looking back at me. "Trust me, Edward, I owe it to him." 

Basking in his obvious adoration, I had to add in my two cent's worth. "I know it's classified, but I've now got clearance," I said. I then added, with a half smile, "Besides, I always let him do it when he gave ME those puppy dog eyes." 

Sam gave a small chuckle of recognition. "C'mon, Edward. You know I'm going to do it whether you want me to or not, but I'd feel better about it if you understood why." And he gave another small smile, obviously at Edward's capitulation. "Thanks. Why don't you leave, so you can tell the committee I did it on my own," he suggested. Under his breath, he added, "That is, if that committee will still exist by the end of all this."

I waited a few seconds, looking for Sam's signal that Edward was gone. I paced in front of my desk. At the man's sigh, I asked again, "What the hell is going on?"


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Al continues to figure things out. (I know - real descriptive. But this is a short chapter.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for missing last week: I was without internet, and getting access was very difficult.

What can I say? If I hadn't experienced the data for myself – the flashbacks, the aura change, the evidence of Edward – I would've thought the man telling me all this was a bona fide nut job. How at one point in his experience, I was the true co-head of PQL – Edward nowhere around. How I had begged him to make Beth wait for me, only to have him tell me he couldn't. How he later finally got the chance to correct what he thought was a major wrong.

"Was Beth happy?" I asked once again. "With Dirk?"

"I don't know," Sam repeated. "You never told me, and I never knew. I just knew you had asked it of me, and I had said no."

"So, you wouldn't know if they had kids," I whispered, looking at the picture on my desk. My girls. The girls who only existed because of Sam's sacrifice. The girls I didn't even know, even without my amnesia. I leaned on the desk for support.

"Why am I getting these flashbacks at all?" I asked. "And why is it I can only remember bits and pieces?" I looked at him. "I mean, Edward's right. In this timeline, I've never been involved in the project – so I shouldn't even remember it."

"Reverse Swiss-cheese," he said.

"Excuse me?"

"We nicknamed the amnesia I got from leaping the Swiss-cheese effect," he clarified. "Mainly because it seemed as though holes were missing from my memory. The bigger holes were things closest to me. We never did figure it out." He started pacing as he thought. "Maybe somehow, with my changes to the time stream, somehow the fact that you were at one point affiliated with the project slipped through and you're getting the reverse – big batches of things closest to you, but still missing the full picture."

"But sometimes, I've been getting contradictory flashes," I said, not wanting to tell him about the sexual side of some of the flashbacks. After all, he was so certain I wanted Beth back, so it was obvious that those flashbacks didn't exist for him.

"Different timelines," he said. "You were the only human hooked up to me, so you experienced all the various timelines." As an after thought, he added, "I wonder about Gooshie, though, since you had to jerry-rig a connection that one time."

"Why are you here, Sam?" I asked the one question we had both avoided since we started talking about his true identity.

"I don't know," he whispered. "Alpha is hypothesizing that your investigation is why I'm here. That if I wasn't here to explain things to you, you would have closed down PQL."

"But doesn't that go against . . . ."

"The very reason Edward's telling me not to let you know about me," Sam finished. "Yeah. But it's happened before. Whatever force is leaping me around seems to want to ignore that rule when it comes to the actual project."

"You don't agree with . . . Alpha, is it?" I asked. "Why do I want to say 'Ziggy'?"

"That's what she's called in our timeline," he grinned. "Your idea," he added. "But no, I don't agree."

"Then why are you here?"

"I think . . . I think I wanted to see you again," he said with a blush. "I wanted to make sure you were okay. When . . . when I fixed it so Beth waited, that threw off my entire life – you were no longer at my side." He gave me a sad smile. "I didn't think that was even a possibility. You had stayed by my side through every other leap – well, except for that one where I killed you off," he said, giving a sardonic chuckle. "I figured this one would be no different. Yes, you'd be with Beth now, but you still would've joined up with me at StarBright, we still would've done PQL together. And you'd still be my hologram."

He looked away, but not before I saw his eyes welling up. "But you weren't. I leaped again, and instead of you, I was alone. I don't know how many leaps I did by myself; I really don't want to think about them," he said, his voice raw with pain. "But then one leap, things changed. I suddenly had Edward telling me what I was supposed to do. And somehow, without you in my life, I had been leaping for two extra years. I . . . I almost gave up then. I had no reason to keep going."

"And that's when you leaped into Kevin," I guessed.

"Not right away. But you've got the right idea." He smiled. "I wanted to quit, to give up, but I wanted to make sure before I did that I had done the right thing by you."

"Beth wanted to stay in San Diego then," I remembered. "StarBright was in Washington D.C., and at the time, she was pregnant with Tina and it was just more trouble than it was worth to go through that big of a life change. So I turned it down."

"Well, that explains that," he said softly. "But you're in D.C. now."

"Another job came up in '79, early '80. By then, we had three kids and Beth was wanting another, and it was more stable than what I was doing, flying a desk instead of a plane – so we moved. I've been here ever since."

"Are you happy, Al?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "These past few days . . . ." _God, it hasn't even been a week since that episode which started it all_. "These past few days have just been a jumble of information, and I couldn't get settled with my life. Kept thinking I was forgetting something." I had to let him know that, that this life would not forget him.

He brought out his hand, and touched my cheek. "I'm sorry," he said, giving it a slight caress. I closed my eyes, both wanting and not wanting to remember the other set of memories that had been flooding my memory. His fingers played lightly against my cheek, still in the caress, and his thumb traveled down, past the edge of my mouth, stopping at the center of my chin. A slight push up on the thumb had my face angled upward, and I felt the briefest of touches against my lips. I swallowed and opened my eyes, and gave a smile as I saw Sam – brown hair and hazel eyes – looking down at me, an apprehensive smile of his own as he wondered what my reaction would be.

"I never forgot you, Sam," I said. "Never forgot us. Why did you?"

His eyes went tight at my condemnation. "I don't know," he said with a sad look. "Every time I made a choice, I left something behind, some part of me. I . . . I only remembered when you called me last night. I knew I loved you, more than just as a friend, but I never remembered you loved me back until then."

"And so you gave me Beth," I sighed. "For love."

"Why not?" he said. "You did the same for me, with Donna."

 _Donna_. The one word filled more gaps in my memory, as I remembered the woman left alone at the project, the woman Sam wanted more than any other, the look in Sam's eyes as he pleaded with me to help him help her. "You remember . . . ."

"That she's at the project, waiting for me?" Sam clarified. "Yeah, I remember." _"What we had wasn't something out of a movie,"_ Donna had said to Tom at one point. _"It wasn't the kind of marriage they tell you you're supposed to have."_ He waved his hand away. "I remember our marriage wasn't much of one, that there was no passion or desire, that it was more like two colleagues who felt 'right' together." He looked at me. "Even . . . even if I wasn't madly in love with you, I'd still want to have a nice chat with her if I ever get back to the project."

"So what do we do now?" I asked.

"We try and fix it," he said. "Are you ready to tilt at another windmill, my Sancho?"

Well, how could I deny that request?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Donna's words to Tom is a direct quote from the _Quantum Leap_ novel _Mirror's Edge_.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for missing last week: I was without internet, and getting access was very difficult.

What can I say? If I hadn't experienced the data for myself – the flashbacks, the aura change, the evidence of Edward – I would've thought the man telling me all this was a bona fide nut job. How at one point in his experience, I was the true co-head of PQL – Edward nowhere around. How I had begged him to make Beth wait for me, only to have him tell me he couldn't. How he later finally got the chance to correct what he thought was a major wrong.

"Was Beth happy?" I asked once again. "With Dirk?"

"I don't know," Sam repeated. "You never told me, and I never knew. I just knew you had asked it of me, and I had said no."

"So, you wouldn't know if they had kids," I whispered, looking at the picture on my desk. My girls. The girls who only existed because of Sam's sacrifice. The girls I didn't even know, even without my amnesia. I leaned on the desk for support.

"Why am I getting these flashbacks at all?" I asked. "And why is it I can only remember bits and pieces?" I looked at him. "I mean, Edward's right. In this timeline, I've never been involved in the project – so I shouldn't even remember it."

"Reverse Swiss-cheese," he said.

"Excuse me?"

"We nicknamed the amnesia I got from leaping the Swiss-cheese effect," he clarified. "Mainly because it seemed as though holes were missing from my memory. The bigger holes were things closest to me. We never did figure it out." He started pacing as he thought. "Maybe somehow, with my changes to the time stream, somehow the fact that you were at one point affiliated with the project slipped through and you're getting the reverse – big batches of things closest to you, but still missing the full picture."

"But sometimes, I've been getting contradictory flashes," I said, not wanting to tell him about the sexual side of some of the flashbacks. After all, he was so certain I wanted Beth back, so it was obvious that those flashbacks didn't exist for him.

"Different timelines," he said. "You were the only human hooked up to me, so you experienced all the various timelines." As an after thought, he added, "I wonder about Gooshie, though, since you had to jerry-rig a connection that one time."

"Why are you here, Sam?" I asked the one question we had both avoided since we started talking about his true identity.

"I don't know," he whispered. "Alpha is hypothesizing that your investigation is why I'm here. That if I wasn't here to explain things to you, you would have closed down PQL."

"But doesn't that go against . . . ."

"The very reason Edward's telling me not to let you know about me," Sam finished. "Yeah. But it's happened before. Whatever force is leaping me around seems to want to ignore that rule when it comes to the actual project."

"You don't agree with . . . Alpha, is it?" I asked. "Why do I want to say 'Ziggy'?"

"That's what she's called in our timeline," he grinned. "Your idea," he added. "But no, I don't agree."

"Then why are you here?"

"I think . . . I think I wanted to see you again," he said with a blush. "I wanted to make sure you were okay. When . . . when I fixed it so Beth waited, that threw off my entire life – you were no longer at my side." He gave me a sad smile. "I didn't think that was even a possibility. You had stayed by my side through every other leap – well, except for that one where I killed you off," he said, giving a sardonic chuckle. "I figured this one would be no different. Yes, you'd be with Beth now, but you still would've joined up with me at StarBright, we still would've done PQL together. And you'd still be my hologram."

He looked away, but not before I saw his eyes welling up. "But you weren't. I leaped again, and instead of you, I was alone. I don't know how many leaps I did by myself; I really don't want to think about them," he said, his voice raw with pain. "But then one leap, things changed. I suddenly had Edward telling me what I was supposed to do. And somehow, without you in my life, I had been leaping for two extra years. I . . . I almost gave up then. I had no reason to keep going."

"And that's when you leaped into Kevin," I guessed.

"Not right away. But you've got the right idea." He smiled. "I wanted to quit, to give up, but I wanted to make sure before I did that I had done the right thing by you."

"Beth wanted to stay in San Diego then," I remembered. "StarBright was in Washington D.C., and at the time, she was pregnant with Tina and it was just more trouble than it was worth to go through that big of a life change. So I turned it down."

"Well, that explains that," he said softly. "But you're in D.C. now."

"Another job came up in '79, early '80. By then, we had three kids and Beth was wanting another, and it was more stable than what I was doing, flying a desk instead of a plane – so we moved. I've been here ever since."

"Are you happy, Al?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "These past few days . . . ." _God, it hasn't even been a week since that episode which started it all_. "These past few days have just been a jumble of information, and I couldn't get settled with my life. Kept thinking I was forgetting something." I had to let him know that, that this life would not forget him.

He brought out his hand, and touched my cheek. "I'm sorry," he said, giving it a slight caress. I closed my eyes, both wanting and not wanting to remember the other set of memories that had been flooding my memory. His fingers played lightly against my cheek, still in the caress, and his thumb traveled down, past the edge of my mouth, stopping at the center of my chin. A slight push up on the thumb had my face angled upward, and I felt the briefest of touches against my lips. I swallowed and opened my eyes, and gave a smile as I saw Sam – brown hair and hazel eyes – looking down at me, an apprehensive smile of his own as he wondered what my reaction would be.

"I never forgot you, Sam," I said. "Never forgot us. Why did you?"

His eyes went tight at my condemnation. "I don't know," he said with a sad look. "Every time I made a choice, I left something behind, some part of me. I . . . I only remembered when you called me last night. I knew I loved you, more than just as a friend, but I never remembered you loved me back until then."

"And so you gave me Beth," I sighed. "For love."

"Why not?" he said. "You did the same for me, with Donna."

 _Donna_. The one word filled more gaps in my memory, as I remembered the woman left alone at the project, the woman Sam wanted more than any other, the look in Sam's eyes as he pleaded with me to help him help her. "You remember . . . ."

"That she's at the project, waiting for me?" Sam clarified. "Yeah, I remember." _"What we had wasn't something out of a movie,"_ Donna had said to Tom at one point. _"It wasn't the kind of marriage they tell you you're supposed to have."_ He waved his hand away. "I remember our marriage wasn't much of one, that there was no passion or desire, that it was more like two colleagues who felt 'right' together." He looked at me. "Even . . . even if I wasn't madly in love with you, I'd still want to have a nice chat with her if I ever get back to the project."

"So what do we do now?" I asked.

"We try and fix it," he said. "Are you ready to tilt at another windmill, my Sancho?"

Well, how could I deny that request?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Donna's words to Tom is a direct quote from the _Quantum Leap_ novel _Mirror's Edge_.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two head off to Project Quantum Leap to get to the bottom of it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter. The next one's better.

So, that's how I found myself on the next plane to New Mexico. I thought back to the events that led me here, the decision from Sam that the only way to solve this conundrum was by going to the project headquarters. I had asked Sam to leave me alone, toying with how to tell Beth. I was so afraid of forgetting Sam and all my other histories, and I was also afraid that I would change my mind about helping if I talked to Beth in person. After all, there were aspects of this life that I did not want to say goodbye to. If I was gonna help Sam, I would no longer be married to Beth – with four beautiful daughters that I obviously adored. I looked once again at the family portrait that sat on my desk, the one Sam had been looking at earlier.

It was hard. Too hard. Even with the feeling that Sam was right, and remembering how temporary everything in this life had felt, it was very hard to dial those seven digits to our home answering machine. I couldn't help but note the irony of me leaving her what was basically a "Dear John" letter. Irony, or poetic justice – I wasn't sure which side I wanted to lean on. But I did, chickening out of the real reason by telling her I had to work late, and that my job was makin' me log some travel time. And even though I knew my choice was the right one, I couldn't help but sigh at the loss. And I didn't even want to think of losing the girls.

"So," I said, wanting to get back on track, "what's the plan?" I turned to the man sitting next to me. At times, he looked like Kevin; others, he looked like Sam. It was really starting to give me a headache – like the time travel aspects of this whole situation wasn't already.

"I'm not entirely sure," he said, giving a sardonic grin. "All I know is that my gut is telling me you need to be on the site of PQL."

"You and your gut," I joked from instinct. I shook my head, not quite sure where that comment came from. "I'm surprised you haven't had a return trip from Edward, though. He's sure to not like the idea of you coming with me."

"Oh, he's been against it from the start," he laughed. "But, as you've told me from time to time, there's only so much a hologram can do."

"That's true," I said. "And so you think my memory – the memories of the first timeline – will come to me once I'm on site?"

"I think so," he said. "And I think my memories will start coming back as well. They did the last time I was there."

"When you and I switched," I said, realization dawning. "But you remembered Donna then," I said, curious.

"Actually, I remembered all of it," he said with a half smile. "If you think back to before the door was opened, I asked you why you couldn't tell me. You had assumed I meant telling me about Donna, and the fact that she's my wife." He paused, gathering his thoughts. "What I was asking was why you couldn't tell me we were lovers when I had asked for your help. But by then the door was open, and I knew everyone was waiting for me. And I also knew that they would be able to hear our conversation at that point, and I didn't want to hurt her any more than I already had. So, I ran."

What could I say? It was the same reason I was on this plane with a taped message waiting for Beth at home. "Then what?"

"With both our memories in place, maybe we can figure out a way to make the accelerator work like it's supposed to."

"And how is that going to solve us?" I asked.

"I don't know," Sam reiterated. "But it will. I just know it."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I started writing QL slash, I re-watched the series. When we got to the simo-leap, I picked up VERY quickly that Sam's "Why didn't you tell me?" was meant to be about Donna, but could easily be interpreted to be about the history Sam and Al had shared prior to Sam's 'fixing' it.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Look at us – killing each other with our good intentions."

As the miles passed, and we got closer and closer, I felt my memories playing more and more tricks. On one side, I had the memory of Beth giving birth to Tina, me braving the hospitals again so quickly after 'Nam to be there for her. On the other side, I remembered my first liaison with a leggy redhead also bearing the name Tina, me burying my desires for my best buddy – who was now no longer my lover, but instead married to Donna. I sighed in exasperation – neither one was unhappy, and neither one felt wrong. So why was it I felt more pangs at the thoughts of losing the second one?

"You okay, Al?" I heard beside me. I turned, and noticed Sam – looking like Kevin now – giving me an intense gaze.

"Jeez, kid," I joked instead, changing the subject. "It's really hard to remember that you know all this stuff when you look like a teenager."

"I'm sorry," came the expected apology. "I wish I knew how to change it where you would see only one or the other. Maybe that's something else that will change as we get on site."

I gave his hand a pat, and watched him change back to Sam. I looked back down at his hand and said, "It has something to do with touch. The few times earlier that I saw you, we had been touching."

"Yeah," he said. "Pity, after all this time, that it's best that we not touch."

I smiled. "At least you got your hug," I said. "True, I thought you were coming on to me at the time . . . ."

"God," Sam said. "I'm honestly surprised you didn't belt me one, now that I think of it. But it just seemed too good to be true, after all this time of trying to find you, that you were suddenly there – right in front of me."

"And it wasn't as a hologram," I added. A few thousand miles passed underneath me, and a few more memories vied for attention. Nights in the early '90s as Beth and I bailed Samantha out of jail for buying liquor under age; nights in the early '90s as Sam and I made frenzied love, knowing how dangerous our relationship was to me and my career.

I sighed again as I realized that Sam was everywhere. Sam was everything. And as much as I loved Beth, that love was based on a relationship that no longer existed, if it ever did. I remembered how, in both histories, Beth almost asked for a divorce when I told her I signed up for another tour. During my stay in 'Nam, I had placed her so high on a pedestal, she was bound to fall off. "It was my fault," I softly admitted.

"Excuse me?"

"I held all the cards," I said. "And I was mad, over Donna. It just seemed like fate was kickin' me in the shins yet again by having you in San Diego at that time in history. I felt it was only right, after you got yourself Donna."

"But you deserve to be happy, Al," he said, looking away. "What right did I have to deny you that?"

"What would've made me happy was for you to come home," I whispered in a hoarse shout. "In any timeline. Do you have any idea what it was doing to me to have you out there?"

"I had my fears," he admitted, leaning in so our conversation wouldn't be TOO overheard by the other flyers. "Fears of what Donna and Tom must've been doing to you and the project." He rubbed his eyes in exasperation. "That's what the bartender was trying to get me to admit. That it might be better to help you for a change."

"And so you take me out of your life completely?" I asked.

"I told you," he said, "I didn't think that would be a result. I thought . . . I thought . . . ."

"That's the problem, Beckett," I snapped. "You didn't think."

"But Al . . . ."

"I wouldn't care if you changed your religion to where you were Mormon and had yourself a dozen wives," I said. "All I wanted was for you to be home."

"But I wouldn't have been able to handle it," he said. "Being there, with you, and not being able to do anything about it. Donna would never understand my need to be around you. And you," he said looking away, "I thought you were irretrievably straight, Al, and I was hopelessly in love with you. I couldn't . . . ."

"You couldn't come home to that," I finished. Well, no wonder the kid never came back then. "And so you figured if you couldn't have me, you could at least make my life happy."

"If you love something . . . ."

"Jeez Louise," I sighed. "Look at us – killing each other with our good intentions."

"Well, they say the road to Hell is paved with 'em."

I squeezed his hand in sympathy, watching the aura flicker from Kevin back to Sam back to Kevin. I shook my head in frustration, and changed the subject. "So, what do you think will happen when we get there?"

"What do you mean?"

"Will the others be able to see you?" I asked. "I mean, in this history, what in the hell do they know about me? I'm just some nozzle investigating the funding issue, and you're just my assistant. They won't even let me near the accelerator, let alone try and work on it."

"I hadn't thought of that," he said. "Edward never gave me much clue as to when he was. I had just assumed it was close to when you were from."

"Well, unless you changing my life history put things way off track, it should be about the same time."

"For you, maybe," he said. "But that doesn't mean anything for Edward. I don't know if those two extra years he claims I've been leaping can be added up to those series of leaps I did alone."

"But think about it, kid. That would explain why Edward's so weird about it. I was freakin' out when you were six months behind us, I could only imagine if you were in the same time. That would also explain why Ziggy – uh, that is Alpha – is acting so hinky."

"What do you mean?"

"Why did they say you were here?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

"To get you to continue the funding of PQL."

"And we both know that goes against everything you originally set up this project for," I continued, trying to get him to see the same thing I had.

"Yeah?"

"And we both know me – even if you did turn me into the type of nozzle I used to fight against," I said with a small grin, to let him know I wasn't too upset, "would I blithely agree to funding that kind of money to a project without investigating it?"

He gave a laugh as he realized where I was going. "So you think . . . ."

"I think Alpha wants me to go to PQL," I said. "And we all know I wouldn't go without you – so you're needed as well."

"But what about Edward?"

"Well, he's the puzzle. The only answer I can think of is you."

"Me?"

"The only way I got you to do things sometimes was to tell you not to do it, or that it couldn't be done." I smiled, as I realized that would also explain his easy agreement to letting me in on the project, and his continued absence by Sam's side.

Sam gave another huff of laughter. "Ah, so that's why you always teased me when I capitulated to my libido!"

"That, and the fact that you wouldn't let me watch," I said with my patented leer.

I'm sure they could hear his laughter back in coach.

~*~*~*~*~

We spent the rest of the trip in spurts of casual conversation. In all honesty, I think we were both getting too worried or eager (or fluctuating between the two) to really have a conversation about our plans. And besides, it was kinda nice – for both of us – to just sit down and talk nonsense.

I should've wondered how I knew exactly how to get to PQL from the airport without a map, but I'd given up worrying about my memory, or the lack thereof. All l knew was that as soon as we got into the rental car, I pretty much was able to drive on instinct.

The trip was silent as both of us became lost in our own thoughts and worries. And as we approached, my memories became more and more hazy as several sets of timelines started to come to the forefront. In fact, as the front gate guard stopped us, I had to correct myself before increasing my rank.

Surprisingly (or not, if my theory was right), it wasn't that much trouble to get past the front gate – even though I had told no one of my visit. I drove past, parked the car, and got out – shielding my eyes to view the entrance of the project. As I gazed upon the doors, I started to shake at the overwhelming memories combating for attention.

"Al?" a voice came from beside me, not quite Sam and not quite Kevin. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I said, wheezing. I held out my hand to him, helping his image congeal into Sam. "This is really starting to get old," I said with a smile. With that, we walked in.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Al arrive at PQL.

It was eerie, having to sign in as a visitor. The part of my mind that was remembering the timelines – all the timelines – wanted to stride through with just a salute to the naval guards at the front desk. Of course, in those timelines, I hardly ever used the visitor's entrance anyway.

"God, this is hard," Sam said as he signed in as Kevin Rogers next to me.

"Hey, you're used to being someone else," I joked.

"Captain Calavicci?" I turned, and saw a gentleman that matched the photograph in Sam's files.

"Edward St. John, I presume," I said, shaking his hand.

"Edward," Sam said softly beside me. He gave a little start as Edward shook his hand next.

"Dr. Beckett," St. John said with a small grin. "We've been expecting you."

"So Al was right," Sam said, shaking his head in exasperation.

"We knew you needed to examine the retrieval program, and Alpha was insistent that the only way you would embark on a journey here would be if we told you that you couldn't."

"Well," Sam said with a nod of acknowledgement, "let's get going then, shall we?"

St. John led us into the elevators, and pushed 5. I couldn't help but ask, "Isn't the accelerator on 10?"

"Very good, Captain," St. John said. "If Alpha wasn't insisting on your participation already, I would have my proof of your knowledge now. Unfortunately, though, we need to stop by administration in order to register you two for security badges."

"Of course," Sam said, more to himself. "We'd need security access to be allowed into the Chamber."

"I am curious about this situation," St. John said. "I, too, typically retain memories from multiple timelines. That is why I have such a difficult time believing this theory of Alpha's. After all, shouldn't I be experiencing the same phenomenon as the Captain?"

"My memory flashes never include you," I said, not intentionally rude. "I can only venture that in our timeline, the original timeline, you were never a part of the project."

"Never a part?" he gasped. "But how?"

"StarBright," Sam answered. "That's where each of you hooked up with me. In this timeline, Al never signed up for it. But in the original timeline, he was such a strong supporter of me and my beliefs, I never looked further." A small smile toward me, before he went back to talking to Edward. "I guess that would mean you must've left America after the project dissolved."

"What will become of me, then, if we fix this supposed error of yours?"

"You will be in England, teaching at Oxford, Dr. St. John," came a voice over the loudspeaker that I recognized – very well.

"Ziggy?"

"Yes and no, Admiral," the feminine voice almost purred. "Or should I be calling you Captain now?" I could almost see the feral grin. "After all, I could hardly be called Ziggy if you were never here to call me that."

"So, Edward was better off?" Sam asked, trying to get the conversation back on topic.

"It would depend on how you define 'better', Dr. Beckett," Alpha said. "I had investigated Edward St. John IV immediately after the timelines switched and he appeared. I had limited knowledge of the original timeline, and I was able to come to the conclusion that he was a teacher. However, his time at Oxford was not well spent and he wrote several scathing scientific essays indicating his desires to explore more. In this history, while that exploration has been satisfied with Project Quantum Leap, the stress of maintaining control of the project has affected him a lot worse than it had been the Admiral. I have predicted a 90% probability that St. John will suffer a heart attack within the next two months, but he's refused to listen to me." A heartfelt sigh was given, then a satisfied, "Thankfully, I was used to the feeling with Admiral Calavicci."

"And why is he so much worse off than me?" I asked.

"You were able to channel much of that stress into – how can I put it? – extracurricular activities."

I had the decency to blush.

"I also suspect that your relationship with Dr. Beckett, which was – to put it politely – much closer than his current relationship with Edward St. John, led you to ignore a large part of the daily work stress."

"Your relationship?" Edward asked.

Thankfully, the conversation was halted by our arrival on the fifth floor, and we followed Edward to administration.

It took a little time, because even with St. John's and Alpha's approval, it was still red-tape city getting permission for "Kevin" and myself to visit the main areas of the project.

We finally pulled through, though, and got back to the elevator, where I decided to voice my biggest concern about Sam's proposed changes.

"Ziggy?"

"Alpha, Al," Sam corrected.

"Alpha?" I asked again.

"Yes?"

"You said you have some knowledge of the other timelines?"

"Yes, Captain?"

"Can you tell me about Beth?"

"What can I tell you?"

"Alpha!" I said. "Was she . . . was she happy, with Dirk?"

"As you may or may not remember, Captain, I have no way to measure the relative happiness or unhappiness of a person or his or her life."

"Alpha!" This time, the shout was from Sam.

"However," she blazed on, "the fact that at the time of the shift she was still married to Dirk Simon gives me reason to believe she was satisfied with the marriage."

"And . . . ." How could I ask this? "And what about kids?"

"None that are noted."

None. My decision was made harder, knowing those four bright souls I knew as my girls would cease to exist.

"Al?" Sam queried, no doubt reading my thoughts.

Once again, I was rescued by our arrival at our destination, and as the elevator doors opened, I shouldered my way out.

"Admiral Calavicci?" a shocked voice cried as I walked into main control. I turned toward the voice and saw a little guy with carrot-red hair. I gave a small smile as I just knew the guy had bad breath.

"Groupie?" I guessed.

"Close enough," he said, shaking my hand. "Gooshie," he corrected. "Dr. Dennis Gushman. It's great to see you here. Place hasn't been the same without you breathing down my neck."

"How do you remember?" Sam asked, stepping next to me.

"Dr. Beckett?" he asked instead for clarification, his held out in a queried half-handshake. At Sam's nod and grasp of the hand, he continued, "Ever since I was hooked up to the IC during the escape of Styles – which happened in either history, by the way – I've had slight memory residual from the various timelines. It's not very strong, and I'm sure nowhere near what the other holographic contacts experience, but it's enough for me to remember the admiral."

"Well, he's a hard man to forget," Sam said with a smirk.

"I don't know," I smirked back. "You forgot me."

"Yeah, but that was under highly stressful situations," he said. "I didn't even remember myself at the time."

"Aren't you going to introduce me?" said a Minnie Mouse voice as a leggy redhead walked up to his side.

Gooshie smiled, and flinging an arm around her shoulders, he said, "I'm sure you both remember Tina. She's my wife." With a side whisper to me, he added, "In this timeline, anyway."

I gave a smile which I'm sure was interpreted as a leer (well, faced with that, can you blame me?), and shook the dainty hand that was offered me. "My pleasure," I said.

"I'm sure," she flirted back.

"Tina, this is Admiral . . . ."

"Captain in this timeline," I corrected.

"What?" he gasped. "Make that Captain Calavicci, and . . ." and he turned a questioned eye to Sam.

"I'm his assistant, Kevin Rogers," he said with a smile. I gave him a sharp look, asking the question without asking.

But Tina answered it for me when she squealed, "The guy in the waiting room?" and promptly crushed him in a deathly hug.

"What is going on here?" I turned and gave a half smile as I recognized Dr. Verbena Beeks, resident shrink. The name hit me with a pang of irony: _no wonder I was goin' nuts_ , I thought as the names of my girls hit my memory once again.

Tina proceeded to explain to the good doctor as more and more of my memories of the original timeline filtered in. So, I wasn't exactly paying attention to what was going on when a soft, hopeful voice asked, "Sam?"

But my attention became riveted at Sam's lackluster acknowledgement, "Donna." Donna's face fell at his lack of enthusiasm, and I remembered his comment earlier that he had some issues with her. But it was Verbena who gave a chastised, "Sam!" at his tone.

He looked at her, then as a silent statement for all to see, took my hand in his. "Let's go look at the retrieval program, shall we?"

 


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So, kid," I said, desperate for a subject, "what's with you and Donna?"

"God damn it!" Sam hit the console as he swore, and I just leaned back and sighed. We had been looking over the program for two hours now. What with jet lag, the plane time, and the circus our memories had been treating us to, it was starting to be a very long day. And considering Sam still couldn't figure out why the retrieval program didn't work, it was looking to be an even longer day.

"Kid, why don't we take a break?" I asked, standing and leaning over, giving his shoulder a pat.

"But it's here – the answer has to be here!" he said, waving his hands about.

"And you're sure to discover it," I said, bringing my hand down to his back, giving him a soothing rub.

"Mmm," he sighed, closing his eyes. "That feels nice. It's been a long time since you've given me a backrub, Al."

I smiled as I remembered some of my more infamous ones. Back when it was just him and me against the world, they would end up turning into some of our hottest make-out sessions. Without conscious thought, my hand continued moving lower.

He leaned his head back, exposing his neck and the deadly charms of his Adam's apple. I suddenly remembered I could never resist leaning in to start suckling it, and was halfway over him, breathing a soft, "Aw, Sammy," before I realized why we were both here – and who we both were. I gave a heartfelt sigh and reluctantly removed my hand. "Why don't we get something to eat?" I suggested.

Sam jerked his eyes open, as if abruptly aware of what was going on himself, and he gave a sad smile. "Yeah, that sounds like a plan."

So, I helped him up, politely ignoring the bulge in his pants, and we walked to the cafeteria.

"So, kid," I said, desperate for a subject, "what's with you and Donna?"

"You really wanna know, huh?" he asked.

"Well, considering we both moved heaven and earth to get her in your life, not to mention how pleased you sounded about her when we switched places, I find it pretty hinky that you're barely acknowledging her existence now."

We continued to walk down to the cafeteria, and he looked surreptitiously around. "Us switching places is exactly why I'm acting the way I am," he explained. "I had told you that I remembered everything, all the histories, when I came back last time. I didn't want to hurt her, though, so I kept it quiet about us."

"Yeah?"

"Unfortunately," he smiled ruefully, "your name 'came up' when we were celebrating my return home."

"Ah," I laughed. I could relate. That had, after all, been exactly what had happened between Tina and me during the Samantha Stormer leap. "And?"

"She . . . uh . . . she didn't take it too well."

"I bet. Why'd she stick around, then?"

"I tried explaining," he said, "how she hadn't been there in the original history, how instead you and I had taken our friendship to the next level. She knew I was bisexual, it was one of the first things I had told her." He ran his hand through his hair. "But she didn't believe me. Kept saying it was just a reaction to having you as my only contact, and that the longer I stayed at PQL, the more I'd remember her as my one true love. After all, to her, you were with Tina. But that was when Ziggy found out what you were supposed to do."

"And I go and get bashed on the noggin," I said. I whistled in amazement at the circumstances.

"I could tell she wasn't treating you right," he said. "That it was her decision for you to not tell me anything about my life in this timeline. You had no major problems with it before she showed up in my history."

"You know, though," I said, "I don't blame her for not believing you. I mean, even Edward's having a hard time believing in the original timeline, and he's experienced shifts before." By this time, we had reached the cafeteria. Our conversation halted as we entered the crowd of people, not quite sure what to talk about, since we knew we could be overheard. I noticed all the eyes turn to watch us head through the line, and knew then that the rumor of Sam's non-homecoming homecoming had made the rounds.

As we sat down to our lunches, I continued the conversation, but in a softer tone. "I must say, I'd have a hard time believing in an alternate history if I wasn't involved with it. No wonder she didn't believe you. I mean, I was devastated when you didn't remember me."

"I guess," he said. After taking a bite of his grilled chicken, he continued, "But you didn't seem surprised when I remembered Donna."

"Hell, Sam, I was used to timeline shifts by then," I said, barely tasting the plate of what passed for spaghetti at the Project. I gave a small chuckle as I realized the quality of food was one of the few constants in all the timelines. "I didn't like half of them, but I was used to 'em. I figured you were just remembering the current history."

"And she wasn't used to the shifts."

"And in this timeline, she never did something like that," I couldn't help but add. Yeah, it just added argument against my case, but it needed to be said. And I needed to make him realize all the choices – needed to know he realized what he was going to be getting . . . and what he was going to be giving up.

The conversation died as we continued to eat.

"So, are you getting anywhere with the retrieval program?" Beeks asked as she walked up to our side. I grinned as I realized we were about to be questioned about Sam's actions earlier. The sense of déjà vu was now so thick, I was practically swimming in it.

"None," Sam said. "According to all my computations, it should be working properly. There is no scientific reason as to why it won't bring me home."

"Maybe that bartender was right and you are leaping yourself," I said with a laugh.

"Bartender?" Beeks asked.

Sam gave me a double take at the phrase, however. "But if it was true, wouldn't I have leaped back home already?"

"You said yourself you didn't want to leap home to a world where I was irretrievably straight," I countered, noting how Bena's eyebrow shot up on that comment.

"You think that's what the bartender was trying to tell me?" Sam asked, getting that look in his eyes that told me he was on to something. "That you were the wrong I needed to fix, but it wasn't by giving you Beth?"

"I don't know, kid," I said. "I love her to death, even now, but this is not my life. This is not me. That one change changed everything."

"Do you want me to fix it?" he asked. I knew I couldn't ask him to take back this gift. He would never forgive himself. It was already tearing him apart to love me when he thought it was reciprocated.

That's when I knew what had to be done.

 


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You would give up Beth – give up your girls – for me?" he asked.
> 
> I'd give up everything to have Sam home, I remembered, even give up Beth.

"You want to what?"

We were back in the office. And Sam was not happy with what I had just proposed. "Leap me into Beth," I repeated. "It's the only way to get history back on track." I gave him a squeeze of his hand, and whispered, "Kid, you have to let me do this. It's my decision."

"You would give up Beth – give up your girls – for me?" he asked.

 _I'd give up everything to have Sam home_ , I remembered, _even give up Beth._ "I gave her up a long time ago," I said, shoving aside the mushiness. "If you had any of your memory back like you say you do, you'd remember that." I looked at him. "Please, Sam, just let me do this."

"And what if it doesn't work?" he asked. "What if you get trapped in time like me?"

"Then I would spend my entire existence looking for you, to be at your side. Where I belong."

He crushed me into a hug, overwhelmed by my sentiment. It was mushy, I know, and in front of Bena to boot, but I also knew the kid needed to hear mush from time to time.

I returned the hug, not wanting to show him the fear and worry and sadness inside me. But I wasn't lying – even though things were still hinky, that feeling that I didn't belong had disappeared the moment I remembered Sam.

"You don't seem too surprised by this," I said to Bena after the hug.

"I may not remember you, Captain," she said, "but I have been thoroughly educated as to the possible effects Sam's leaping may cause. That's why I didn't argue when you went off, and why I told Donna to leave you alone." With a small smile I recognized, she added, "It takes a brave Navy man to let another man hold his hand in public."

I had to give her credit – in any timeline, she had been open but curious about the exact dynamics of our relationship. In more than one timeline, I had been forced to come out to her – and it felt like I had given her the original history about fifty times. "Look, Beeks . . . ."

"I know," she said. "Do you think this plan of yours will work?"

"It's the only thing we haven't tried," I said logically. "I belong here, Bena. I can feel it." I turned to Sam, and said, "C'mon, kid. Let's go right one last wrong."

So, we left the office, heading for the accelerator.

~*~*~*~*~

"Alpha, are we primed?" Sam asked as we entered Control.

"Accelerator is primed – date set to April 2, 1969. Target is one Elizabeth Calavicci."

"Dr. Beckett, the Fermi suit is ready for you," Gooshie said.

"It's not for him," I said, grabbing it out of his hands. I went off to change, trying not to think of all the different ways this could affect . . . everything. As I put on the suit, giving an ironic chuckle at how I swam in it, and realized one vital thing. In the original history, I was never supposed to have Beth. Yes, it was nice to have this little side trip that showed me what life was like with her, but there was one thing Sam failed to take into consideration when he told her to wait. That one decision changed my life, changed me, and while that other life wasn't one of roses and rainbows, it had one bright thing – Sam Beckett.

I took a deep breath as I zipped up the Fermi suit. This was it, now or never. I looked around what was Sam Beckett's office in this history, and I realized something else. He wasn't him . . . without me.

I walked back into Control, and Sam met my eyes. "Al?" Sam asked for confirmation, one more time.

"We have to," I argued. He didn't look too convinced at it, so I looked around. Noticing Donna watching with a resigned look, I knew I couldn't give him the kiss I wanted to. Instead, I grabbed him in yet another hug, and whispered in his ear, "I love you Sam Beckett – in any timeline."

I walked into the accelerator, determined to get things fixed. I don't know if it was the stress of the day or the effects of the chamber or what, but as I heard the system warm up, I felt my knees go weak (and part of my brain couldn't help but remember the last time I was in the accelerator chamber) and my last conscious thought was that I would do anything for Sam. I loved him, after all.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IIRC, the "I'd give up everything to have Sam home, even give up Beth," is another direct quote from "Mirror's Edge". And we're looking at about 5 more chapters until the end, FYI.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Al goes ahead and "sets right what once went wrong".

"Admiral?" My body felt like it weighed a thousand tons, and I wondered what was going on. "Admiral?" I felt a hand shake my shoulder, and it dawned that the voice was talking to me. _Admiral?_ Wasn't I a Captain now? "Ziggy," the voice continued, "he's not coming around. Are you sure he's conscious?"

 _Ziggy?_ And that's when I recognized the voice. "Gooshie?" I gargled. I opened my eyes, squinting against the bright lights of the accelerator chamber. "What the hell is going on?"

"I just finished telling you that," the man said, running a hand through his carrot-red hair. It kinda reminded me of Ensign Rogers. "Dr. Beckett leaped out of Cokeburg, and then you . . . well, Admiral, you fainted." He gave me his hand to help me up.

My brain finally decided to wake up as I stood, and rapidly catalogued: Admiral, Ziggy, Sam leaping. I didn't know how, but somehow my attempted leap into Beth wound up leaping me back to the timeline at the beginning of this wild and crazy trip.

 _Beth!_ "Gooshie, did you just say Sam just leaped out of Cokeburg?"

"Yes, Admiral."

 _Screw the how and figure it out later._ I realized I was being given a prime chance at getting Sam home. I ran out of the accelerator, yelling, "Ziggy, has Sam's signal come back in?"

"Yes, Admiral," Ziggy purred.

"Prime the IC for San Diego, April 2, 1969," I said, changing out of the Fermi suit, not caring who saw me. As I pulled on some sweats and a T-shirt (giving a double take as I saw it was my Navy SEALs shirt), I continued, "And do me a favor – stop all recording. Fake a meltdown or something."

"I feel insulted, Admiral," Ziggy said. "Anyone who knows me knows I would not have a meltdown."

Pulling on some sandals, I looked up at the ball that was Ziggy. "Please," I begged shamelessly, "Sam's there, talkin' to Beth, and I need to talk to him before he does anything drastic."

"Very well, Admiral," she said as I snagged a handlink, barreling into the Imaging Chamber. I gave a chuckle as the sheer familiarity of my actions overwhelmed me, letting me know without a doubt that this was where I belonged.

As the image focused, I winced as I watched Sam watching Beth ghost-dance. Sam stepped forward, but before he had a chance to say anything, I said, "Don't do it, kid."

At his intake of breath, Beth spun around in shock. "Who are you?"

"A friend," he said, determined.

"Sam, don't," I repeated. "I know what you want to do, and you'll regret it."

"A friend?" she asked in harmony to my pleas.

He turned to me, the tears obvious in his eyes. "A friend of Al's," he said.

"Al?" she cried in shock.

I gave a sigh at the three-way conversation. "Sam, I can't talk to you like this in front of her. Tell her to hold on and meet me outside." I saw his resolve, and I pulled out the big guns. Giving him a pleading look I knew he wouldn't be able to resist, I said, "Listen to what I have to say, and if you're still intent on your plans, I'll let you do it." He started to waver, so I didn't hesitate to beg. "Please, Sam."

"Can . . . can you excuse me for a moment?" he asked Beth.

"What about Al?" she cried, confused.

"Please," he said in a near imitation of my plea. "I have to . . . do . . . something," he said, and before she could say another word he was out the door, heading toward that same damned tree. Following him, I noticed Jake Rawlings, the guy Sam had been, walking away in confusion.

"What are you doing here?" he asked as I caught up to him. "I wanted to help you. Do the one thing you had asked of me – and you tell me no?"

I decided to start small. "You'll regret it," I said. "I've seen the results that change makes, and it changes everything."

"You wanted Beth so badly," Sam continued, seemingly oblivious to what I was saying. And speaking of Beth, she came out the door in her confusion, and noticed Jake down the road. With a shout of fear, she ran to him.

"Have you thought about what would happen to me and my life if she was to wait?" I asked, turning back to him. "I wouldn't even be involved with PQL!"

"But . . . ."

I turned again, noticing Beth and Jake hugging and Beth talking to him.

Sam noticed my stare, and took a step closer to me. Had we been in the same time and place, I would've been able to smell his aftershave. He started to try and touch my shoulder, but dropped his hand in frustration before he got too far. "But you love her."

I took a deep breath and checked the link to double-check Ziggy had followed my 'no recording' orders. I wasn't quite ready for Donna, or Tom for that matter, to hear what I had to say.

"Yeah, I do," I said, turning back to look at him so he could see my eyes. "I think a part of me will always love her. But that love was based on six years of not seeing her. You know what it's like, to love someone for so long and not be able to do anything about it? You start to wonder how much of that love is just in your head. There were times when I almost hoped I'd never come home, because there was a part of me that knew – knew without a doubt – that there was no way the love I remembered was anything like the reality. Sometimes, when the depression of being held against my will was too much, and I'd even doubt that she loved me at all."

I saw his eyes grow wide as his brain related what I said to what he felt for me. So, I pressed my advantage. "I may have hated her for moving on, but at the same time, I was relieved she had found someone that made her happy."

He took the bait. "But that's all I was trying to do – make you happy."

"The only thing that would make me happy is to have you home!" I turned away with my anger and tried to calm myself. There was only one way to convince this Sam that I was serious. "Sam, you had done it. Changed it to where Beth waited. And I wasn't in your life anymore. But being dragged out of time and space with my brain still somehow connected to you left me with ghost memories of you and my life here. I was barely hanging onto my sanity, and all I knew was that something big was missing. That something was you."

"But Al . . . ."

"Don't 'but Al' me, and let me finish!" I demanded. "I had only asked for Beth because I was so upset at you asking for Donna – asking and getting her!"

"Donna," Sam said with a gasp. "But why would me getting Donna upset you?"

"Because, you idiot, in the original timeline, we were . . . ." I still couldn't say it. I closed my eyes, gathering my strength, still unsure how he'd react to this bombshell.

"Al?" Sam asked, a quiet plea filled with confusion. I opened my eyes and smiled at the look of concern I saw in his. It was enough.

"We were lovers, Sam," I said gently.

"What?" Okay, it obviously wasn't gently enough.

"I couldn't tell you," I said. "You . . . you never remembered." I ruffled my hair in frustration. "Or, at least, you never told me you remembered. And Beeks thought it would be too much of a strain, giving you information about your life – that there was a reason you had blanked it out. It would be too stressful on you, unless you remembered yourself, so we came up with that classified bullshit to cover up why we weren't telling you anything. Hell, she almost pulled me from observer status when she found out you didn't remember me. But I convinced her I could pull off the good buddy routine with you, and you needed to have something familiar. But that all went down in flames when you leaped into that professor."

I paused, wanting to tell him everything, but knowing I had limited time before Beeks realized what was going on. "The long and short of it is, kid, I . . . I love you. Always have. And you helped me get over Beth in a way I respect to this day, in any history. And I ask you, for the sake of that love, to not do what you were planning on doing."

He looked at me, trying to read the truth in my eyes. I only hoped he could see it. "I . . . I can't believe this," he finally said, rubbing his face with his hands. "You . . . you love me?" My heart broke at the sheer need and sadness his voice held in it.

"Yes, Sammy," I said. "With all my heart."

And with that, he leaped.

 


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... hoping each time that his next leap will be the leap home…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this. Yesterday, I was let go from my job due to a restructuring, so this was not my top priority.

I managed to get out of the Imaging Chamber without too much fuss or excitement. As I walked out, I waited expectantly for the 'harpies' (as I affectionately nicknamed Tina, Bena, and Donna) to descend, swooping down with questions and concerns about my time in the IC. I chuckled nervously as no one but Gooshie remained in Control, and even he was extra calm, taking the handlink as if it had been just another normal leap.

I shrugged, figuring Sam's decision to not tell Beth somehow rippled to include this being considered a normal leap. But I could swear that as I walked out, Gooshie gave me a wink of acknowledgement. I continued onto my office, and I started to wonder how I was even here to be harped upon. After all, I never did complete that leap into Beth in that alternate history.

I gave a heartfelt sign as I remembered that brief time in that universe. Definitely one hinky time, and if . . . that is, when Sam leaped home, I planned on giving him a good smack for even attempting to change things.

I walked into my office, and gasped as I saw the paperwork – or more precisely, the lack thereof. And while I could swear that (before I went into 'Beth-world', as I was starting to call it) I had told Tom to wait for me in my office while I attempted to leap, he wasn't anywhere nearby.

I settled into my chair, preparing myself for the headaches. Not only could I look forward to the various timelines reasserting themselves, but also I had to figure out how in the hell I would even begin a report on the events since Sam's leap into Cokeburg. I leaned back, closing my eyes, and let myself mourn a little for the good parts in that other world. While I knew I had done the right thing by coming back to Sam, I also found myself missing my wife and daughters.

As I was grabbing a notebook and pen, ready to start the longhand version of my reports, the sirens rang. The sirens I had been waiting to hear for five long years. I was halfway to the door before Gooshie even had a chance to yell over the intercom, "It's Dr. Beckett in the accelerator! He's home!"

"You sure?" I shouted as I flew through the hallways, running like fire, knowing Ziggy would transfer my message.

"His vitals are exact, Admiral," Gooshie said.

Running into the elevator, I anxiously tapped my foot as I waited for the floors to pass. "You positive he didn't just leap into himself?" I asked, remembering how excited we were the last time we thought we had him home.

"Surely, Admiral, you don't doubt my abilities?" Ziggy asked with disdain. I felt an odd sense of relief that Ziggy, at least, seemed to be the same.

"Nothin' against you, old girl," I said with a chuckle, "I just don't like gettin' my hopes up."

"Very well," she sighed. I echoed it as my floor finally arrived, and I ran down the hall back to Control. "I have checked the brainwave patterns against the two we have on file, the one from Dr. Beckett before he leaped, and the one from when he leaped into his younger self. It is indeed a match for the current one."

As much as I wanted to trust her, I still held my breath as the accelerator door opened and a figure staggered out. I closed my eyes with a gulp, as it did indeed look like Sam. But I didn't let my breath out until I heard the plaintive, "Al?" and then it was released with gusto.

"Sammy!" I cried out, running to his side, grabbing his arm to help him steady. He seemed both shocked and relieved that I was there and we were touching.

"Al?" he asked again, confirming what his senses were telling him. I wanted to scream, I wanted to shout, I wanted to kick him in the butt, I wanted to kiss the living breath out of him. But he was home, and I still was trying to figure out the current history, what all I remembered, not to mention what all he remembered, and wasn't sure what the current history was ready for. So, instead, I gave him a tight hug, saying, "You're home, Sam, you're home."

With that, he promptly fainted in my arms.

 


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe, finally, Sam had gotten things right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you didn't notice, there is now a chapter total here. This is the second to the last chapter.

God, I hate waiting! The minute we realized Sam was out, we called in the med team, and rushed him off to the onsite medical facilities. Thrust outside the room (told I would do more harm than good inside), I felt like an expectant father being told to boil water.

The thought brought me up short, as I suddenly did remember one time I was an expectant father. With two babies already, we had no major worries during Beth's third pregnancy. But for some reason, the labor was harder than normal, and things got a little hairy. Needing to do a caesarean, the doctor had shuffled me out to wait.

I've never been a patient man – although my time in 'Nam had given me a little bit more – so it was too long a time before the doctor came out and let me know everything was okay. I had walked in, and as my eyes alighted on my third daughter, I whispered, "She looks just like an angel."

"Then we'll name her after mine," Beth had said, and thus Samantha was in my life.

I closed my eyes in memory, and realized I had stopped my pacing and was just standing in the middle of the room. I rubbed my face as the headache of multiple timelines started again, and I sighed in exasperation.

"Wanna talk about it?" Verbena asked right behind me, making me jump.

I turned around with a chuckle. "'Bena, I swear you get too much enjoyment out of scarin' the bejeebies out of me."

"Well, I know you have an unlimited supply of bejeebies," she said with a smirk.

"Shouldn't you be in there," I asked with a thumb back toward Sam, "givin' him the Spanish Inquisition?"

"No one expects the Spanish Inquisition," she said with a very bad Monty Python accent. Becoming serious, she continued, "Besides, the medical doctors get first dibs on him. I figure I've got a few minutes to torture you instead."

"Gee, how'd I get to be so lucky?" I asked. Glancing back at the room that held the only person I would ever truly love, I smiled. "I'm fine. It's just . . . timeline shifts."

"Ah," she said, understanding. "Good? Bad? Indifferent?"

I thought about my little side trip into 'Beth-world'. "Just plain different," I finally ended up with.

"Uh-huh," she said, just giving me a look.

I stared at her. "Really earnin' your money today, huh?"

"My, aren't we defensive?" she countered.

I sighed once more, knowing she would keep at me until I spilled it. "Beth."

She just arched an eyebrow as a response.

"He went back to Beth, and told her to wait for me."

"He what?" Clearly, she was flabbergasted. "I mean, I know we thought it best to not let him remember anything about his life or yours, but what made him think you wanted her to wait?"

I looked at her in confusion. Did Sam's latest leap wipe out the prior time he had been in Beth's life? "Because I had asked him to," I said, matter-of-factly.

"What?" Now it was her turn to look confused. "Why ever did you go and do that? Isn't it against the rules?"

"Yeah, but so was gettin' him Donna, and he was okay with that."

"Donna?" she asked with complete sincerity.

I brought my hand up to my nose, knuckling my forehead, and I took a deep breath. "Ziggy?" I asked, ready to break apart at the seams.

"Yes?" she drawled.

"Donna Elesee?" I left it at that, knowing Ziggy would know what I was asking.

Surprisingly, she didn't try to play coy. "In this history, Donna Elesee is married to the first man she was engaged to, a David Anderson."

Odd. In the history where she was Sam's wife, she had still dumped David at the altar. Yet, the news brought me a sense of guilty relief. But I couldn't help it – even without taking my feelings for Sam into consideration, I could tell she had been all wrong for him.

"Ah, I see," Verbena said with a nod. "In one of the alternate histories you experienced, Sam was actually married. But that had happened because of a leap." She clicked her tongue. "Al, Al, Al," she sighed. "What am I ever going to do with you?"

"I'm not sure, what would you like to do with me?" I leered.

As she got ready to give a smart-assed answer, a young man poked his head from behind the door. "Dr. Beeks?" he asked, looking around. Sighting her, he continued, "Dr. Beckett's coming back around."

"Thanks," she said. Turning back to me, she said, "I'm not through with you yet, Calavicci. Don't make me hunt you down to talk this through."

"Ugh," I said with a shiver, "you really know how to threaten." Giving her a pat on the upper arm, I said, "Don't worry, Bena – as soon as I have the time, I'll look you up."

She nodded, noting the irony of a lack of time, and headed into the medical facility.

"Zig?" I asked, as soon as I was clear.

"Yes, Admiral?"

"What did Sam change?"

Ziggy continued being helpful, and I had to wonder at my earlier relief that she was the same. Maybe she wasn't. "As a result of Dr. Beckett's last leap-in, Donna Elesee's wedding to David Anderson was no longer cancelled."

"What did Sam showin' up in San Diego in '69 and not convincing Beth to wait have to do with Donna and her wedding to David?"

"I can only assume it was because she was now in contact with your ex-wife."

"How in the hell did that happen?" I asked.

"Elizabeth Calavicci, as a result of Dr. Beckett's – how shall I put it? – personal appearance in her living room led her to seek out another individual who had experienced effects from the good doctor's leaps, one Jake Rawlings."

"Uh huh?" I asked, closing my eyes as I started to see where this was going.

"The two ended up marrying."

"Kids?" I asked.

"One," she said. "Male. You would be interested to know his name is Albert."

"What?" I asked. "Why'd she do that, when she still had me declared dead?"

"No, Admiral. In this timeline, she waited for your repatriation, and never did declare you dead. However, your return did prompt the two of you to divorce."

"Shit, like that was any better," I mumbled, more to myself. "But what about Dirk?"

"Dirk Simon," she continued with a huff, "ended up marrying a Melissa Pope, and the two have three children."

"And what does all of this have to do with Donna?"

"If you would let me finish, Admiral," she said, and I could almost see her eyes fluttering. "Mr. Rawlings is a cousin to Donna Elesee, and she was invited to the wedding. At the wedding, she and Elizabeth Calavicci Rawlings met up. I can only assume your ex-wife gave Ms. Elesee the necessary confidence to go through with her first marriage."

I thought over what Ziggy said, and had to laugh at the sheer irony of it all.

About ready to ask how Beth's divorcing me changed my life, I jumped (again) as I heard behind me, "So, I hear it's really my little brother!"

I stiffened, not quite ready to deal with Tom at this moment – not when I was still wrapping my head around timeline shifts. So, when he clapped me on the shoulder in what was supposed to be a friendly pat, I found myself stumbling forward as a result.

"You okay, Admiral?" Tom asked in apparent concern, grabbing my shoulder.

I swirled around, combat instincts kicking in, and lost my footing yet again as I saw Tom, dressed in Navy whites, captain's bars on his shoulder.

"Tom?" I asked, thoroughly confused at this point.

"Yes, sir?" he asked, apparently in shock at my response as well.

"You're . . . you're not a congressman?" I asked hesitantly. After all, just because he was in uniform didn't mean he wasn't in politics.

"Congressman?" he asked, aghast. "God, no – Sam would kill me if I took up politics. Especially since he insisted I be head of security for the project."

"Head . . . of . . . ." I had to sit down at this point.

"Admiral?" he asked, taking a step closer. "Al?" he continued, concern making him forget the necessities of command.

I waved him aside, not wanting him to touch me, not here, not now. I gripped the edge of the chair, and started the deep breathing exercises Sam had introduced me so long ago. It was just too much, too many timelines, too many changes – and I was starting to feel just as lost here as I had been back with Beth and the girls.

"Admiral?" I heard to the right of me, and in my haze I recognized the voice as Gooshie's.

"Not now, Goosh," I said, keeping my eyes tight.

"Ziggy let me know what was happening, and suggested I might be able to help you."

"Oh yeah?" I asked, getting ready to become hysterical.

"Yes, sir." I felt his hand on mine, giving me a small pat of sympathy. "I've got a small case of temporal flux myself."

"Temporal flux?" Tom asked. I opened my eyes, taking another deep breath in, and slowly releasing it.

Gaining control over myself and my emotions as my breathing continued, I raised my head so as to see them both. Hell, I was trained to be ready for any contingency, right?

"Yeah?" I asked.

Gooshie smiled. "It always takes a bit for me to realize that there is a new timeline, but I do. Captain Beckett's life was changed exponentially without Ms. Elesee's marriage to Dr. Beckett."

"How in the hell does that have to do with anything?" I asked.

"Marriage?" Tom asked. "But . . . Admiral, I thought you and Sam . . . ."

I looked at him, then turned my gaze back to Gooshie. A small nod of the head. "In this timeline, without your wives around, and with yours being just another ex-wife, you became lovers a bit sooner than in the original history. And you haven't been as scared to hide it. You don't exactly announce it to the Navy, but you've let Captain Beckett know . . . ."

"Hard not to know," Tom interrupted, "after I walked in on you two that one time." He smiled in tolerance. I had a flash of Sam and I necking in the office, a playful result of one of my massages, when we suddenly couldn't get enough of each other. Sam was just startin' to go down on me when Tom opened the door, ready to tell us of some security overhaul, and just stared at us agape. It took a few years, and quite a few conversations, but eventually he had accepted our relationship – and even came to rely on it, asking me to help when he started to suspect Sam's motives for working on the accelerator more often. In this timeline, he had first blamed me for Sam's premature leap, but then realized I had no more control over his brother than he did, and he became my strongest support in the days following.

I rubbed my eyes in exasperation. Who'd've thunk that one leap would've changed this much? But then, I remembered how much was changed with him just telling Beth to wait. And for the first time since the sirens had clanged, I sent up a silent 'thank you' to whatever force that it was – hopefully – over.

"You'll have to forgive me, Tom," I said, together enough to stand once more. "From what I remember, you and I weren't exactly friends."

"Oh," he said. Sticking out his hand as a peace offering, he said, "I hope I can help you change that."

"Your brother already did enough to change that," I said, shaking it. Maybe, finally, Sam had gotten things right.

 


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "One never knows with temporal physics, Admiral," he said. "Anything is possible." - Wherein we end this crazy roller coaster of time travel with some final 'where are they now?'s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here it is - the last bit. Thanks to all of you who have subscribed and left kudos. Who knew a story I wrote over ten years ago would still generate interest?
> 
> If you're interested, next week, I'll be starting one final QL story that I co-wrote with J.D. Rush, another massive undertaking (115 pages, where this one was 110). So, stay tuned for "Hit Me With Your Best Shot": Sam & Al meet up at MIT during the late 70s, and don't get along with each other. And things snowball from there. (Warnings of boxing-related violence and some very minor dubcon.)

Waiting and more waiting. After Tom and Gooshie settled me down, I had a memory of Edward St. John, and the predictions of Alpha/Ziggy as to how his life was changed. Remembering how helpful he was, and curious if he now was experiencing the same phenomenon I had while in the alternate reality, I decided to investigate.

"Ziggy?" I asked, hoping I would be left alone while I breeched PQL security this time. "Can you do some research for me? I'm looking for an Edward St. John, IV, in England. He may be a professor at Oxford," I said, remembering.

"There is indeed a professor at Oxford by that name, Admiral," she said. "Would you like me to contact him?"

"Yes, please."

A few seconds passed while I heard her connect to the phone lines, and issue the signal through my cell phone.

"Hello?"

I smiled, recognizing the voice. "Yes," I said. "Dr. St. John?" At my voice, I heard him gasp.

"Captain Calavicci?"

"It's Admiral now," I said, glad I wasn't the only one flying by the seat of my pants. I quickly summed up what had happened, each of us filling in the gaps in the memories of the other. With the laptop, I sent him the files I knew he'd need. "So," I finished, "somehow instead of leaping into Beth, I wound up here at the exact moment I was at before he switched it."

"That is intriguing," he said. "Since I am remembering bits of that alternate universe, as you call it, I can only surmise that it did indeed happen – at least for those of us who have had a connection to the Imaging Chamber link."

"So, what happened?" I asked.

"Maybe . . . maybe, Admiral, your original desire to leap into Samuel at the same time he was attempting to make your wife wait for you created a contradiction. Perhaps you did indeed leap, but since he had already succeeded in his quest, the leap created the alternate history."

"So, you're saying that I really was on a leap somehow? And that's why when I tried leaping again, it slingshot me back?"

"One never knows with temporal physics, Admiral," he said. "Anything is possible."

I smiled. "Eddie," I said, using the nickname on purpose, "how'd ya like to be workin' for PQL? We could use you to not only help correlate the data we've collected, but to understand it as well. It'd be nice to have someone else who's experienced a bit of the timeline shift on staff."

"Captain," he said, and I'm sure the change in rank was a specific reaction to my nickname, "I would be more than honored. Just send me the information, and I'll start packing my bags." A short pause, then he laughed as he added, "You wouldn't happen to own an old police box, would you?"

"No," I said, not quite sure what he was referring to. But it didn't really matter – he was going to help out. I was looking forward to comparing observer stories with him; it would be nice to share the experience with someone who knew what it was like.

~*~*~*~*~

Two hours. Two fucking, agonizing hours of waiting. Waiting for the doctors to finish their medical tests on Sam. Waiting for Bena to do her psychological tests on Sam. Waiting for the red tape to be filled out to prove it was Sam. Of course, the waiting wasn't made any easier (or was it?) by the stream of visitors I received. After I was finished talking to Edward, Tina (once again Gooshie's wife) had come by to check up on me, then David from Control as well, then a few folks from Accounting, then some people from PR. Apparently, my relationship with Sam wasn't exactly hidden, and everyone was wanting to make sure I was kept busy.

It both helped and hurt; while it did keep me from worrying about Sam, it also kept me with a different kind of busy as each time someone stopped by with some lame excuse to cover their concern and curiosity, I was faced with another set of memories, another batch of things I had to get used to.

The worst . . . well, the worst was when I got out my wallet and caught myself wondering where the snapshot of me and the family was. I was flipping through the pictures for the third time before it hit me there wasn't one of Beth and the girls. I started to shake at that point, but was brought back to the reason why I gave them up when Gooshie silently pointed out the one of me and Sam, celebrating. It was a new one for me, and I noticed how happy we both looked, happy with each other and happy with life. I smiled, knowing deep in my bones that things were the way they were supposed to be, Sam at my side. I was where I belonged.

I finally had a moment of peace, everyone finally getting the hint that I wanted to be by myself, and collapsed into an easy chair. I leaned back, closing my eyes once again as I let the timelines filter through my mind, when I heard the voice that had been haunting me for so long. "Al?"

I opened my eyes, and there he was – in the flesh – standing a few feet away. I slowly stood, the adrenaline that had kept me going since my 'arrival' shaking my arms. "Sam?" I asked, needing to be sure.

"Oh, Al," he said, and closed the distance. Crushing me in a hug, I heard him hiccough a sob. "Bena realized there was only one thing I needed to confirm I was finally home," he whispered in my ear. "So she let me go for the day."

I just held him, wanting to revel in the moment. He was finally home.

A few minutes, we just stood, hugging, and a part of my mind acknowledged that we had been left alone for this homecoming. But, like all good things, it was destined to end, and we finally broke away from each other.

Wiping his eyes, Sam gave me a hesitant grin. "You . . . you're not upset, that you lost them?"

I didn't have to ask who he meant. Of course he remembered my jaunt as well. And I knew I had to be honest. "I miss 'em, sure," I said. "But I didn't belong there. Think of it this way, kid – now I never have to wonder what it was like. I know."

"And you're okay with ending with me?" he asked.

Instead of answering him verbally, I pulled him down into a kiss – something I'd been wanting to do for a long time. It was gonna take awhile. I had a feeling we'd both need long sessions with Bena to deal with everything Sam's leaps had done to us, not to mention dealing with the loss of the other timelines. Even though I was glad to have Sam back and I was sure he was glad to have me, we had both lost women we had loved deeply.

But I was willing to forge ahead with him at my side. I loved him, after all – in any timeline.

 


End file.
